


Absolution

by CaptainMotgane



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Graphic Depictions of Illness, M/M, Psychological Torture, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2019-09-18 17:34:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 41,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16999506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainMotgane/pseuds/CaptainMotgane
Summary: Under the hands of King Anduin Llane Wrynn, the Alliance war campaign begins to crumble. Alliance forces dwindle by the hour, Sylvanas Windrunner continues to launch vicious assaults, and Azshara threatens to attack without warning.Anduin - once lauded for his intellect and sensibility - has run out of options.Given the circumstances, Anduin is left with no choice but to ally himself with less than favourable crowds. Among these crowds is one black dragon - a black dragon that Anduin had hoped to forget.





	1. Castigation

Anduin’s eyes are open, he knows they are, but he sees only a glint of orange through a thick shroud of shadow. It was a flame, nearly dead and gently licking against charred wood.

It’s so close that he can feel the heat from the dying embers. It’s hot, but only enough that it feels like a fierce blush has run across his face.

It is only then that he can feel the cold of wherever he is threatening to wrap around him like a cloak. He’s wet, and the chill has soaked him to his bones. He notes that the fire is the only thing he has keeping him from death.

He unconsciously sidles closer to the flame.

He doesn’t know why, but he reaches out to the fading amber; cold-chapped hands grasp at empty, warm air.

Just before the sting of the heat scalds him, a hand wraps around his wrist. Even through the sheen of sleep, the deep umber of this hand is striking against his anemic skin - made even lighter by the chill burrowing into his bones. He feels like he should recognize this hand – this uncomfortably warm hand – but he can’t place a name to the owner. He stares at it, instead, too weak to look anywhere else.

He can hear a voice, warbled, but he can’t make out what they’re saying to him. The tone is scolding, condescending – maybe even worried if one were to listen very closely.

Anduin closes his eyes again, comforted by the firm hand that doesn’t move from his wrist. That person is still talking as Anduin loses consciousness for the second time that night.

He slips in and out through the following days and nights, and he loses track of time entirely. At one point, through these lapses in consciousness, he’s aware of an intense argument happening between two familiar voices. He can't place either of them,  but he knows them.

There’s a scuffle, and Anduin wants to tell them to stop, but he’s still too weak.

Anduin reaches out weakly, but a gentle hand closes around his fingers and brings them back to his side. They’re small hands this time, fragile and thin. They run their fingers soothingly over the backs of his hands as the fighting continues, urging Anduin back into a restless sleep.

»»————- ————-««

When Anduin wakes, this time without the haze that plagued him earlier, he could feel the distinct warmth of the light flooding his veins. The comfort was short-lived, however, as he noted the sound of arguing and clamoring around him – over him. There was a distinct, empty echo followed by each sharp word exchanged.

Wherever he was before, this was no longer it. He was in a room now, a proper room with stone walls and warm bedding.

He recognized the voice of Genn, but the female voice he couldn’t quite place. Some priest, he thought to himself, if the feeling of the light in his veins was anything to go by.

He absently hoped it was a Draenei woman.

“Anduin, you’re awake,” Genn’s voice cut through the arguing, and the room grew silent. He opened his eyes. It was only then that he realized he had lifted a hand as if to quiet everyone in the room.

“Genn?” His voice was so hoarse it surprised even him.

Genn leaned in next to Anduin, his eyes wide. He rested his hands on the bed beside him, but Anduin noticed them fidgeting restlessly as if it was taking all of Genn's control not to touch him - feel that he was actually alive. It was clear that something terrible had happened. 

“What happened?” Anduin asked, keeping his voice low to avoid straining his already wrecked voice.

“You don’t remember?”

Anduin’s consciousness had returned some, but he didn’t remember what happened. He had visited Kul’Tiras and was in Drustvar at the request of Taelia. He didn’t remember much outside of that.

“I was in Drustvar with Taelia,” Anduin said. “That’s as far as I remember.”

“You’ve forgotten a lot, then,” Genn said.

“What happened to me?”

Genn opened his mouth, and Anduin saw hesitation resting in the set of his shoulders.

“And do not spare me the details,” Anduin urged.

Genn closed his mouth and made strong eye contact with Anduin - Anduin would have mistaken it as threatening had he not known Genn too be fiercely loyal. “Queen Azshara attacked both you and Taelia near the coast in Gol Koval,” Genn said, and to add insult to injury, “against my advisement, of course.”

Anduin nodded, vying to ignore Genn’s last comment, “yes, I do remember the bitter chill of the area.”

“Her soldiers pulled you far. Taelia was saved only seconds before hitting the water, but you fell directly into the freezing ocean, Anduin. No one could find you – not even Jaina. Azshara was too strong, she attacked while we were weak, and the freezing storm she created-" Genn stopped for a moment, his fingers gripping Anduin's bedding. "Anduin we were all certain you had been lost.”

“Then how am I not dead?”

Genn bit his lip, “you were saved.”

Anduin dipped his head, wordlessly asking Genn to clarify who it had been.

“It was a dragon,” he spat through gritted teeth.

Anduin sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Do I have to drag the information out of you? What dragon?”  
  
A tense silence followed Anduin's question. 

“I will confess, my King, that I am being hesitant because it was a black dragon that came to your aid,” Genn admitted after an uncomfortable pause.

“Ah,” was all Anduin could muster. He hadn't expected _that_ answer. 

“As you should know by now, black dragons have not exactly been good to alliance royalty in the past few years. They haven’t been good to anyone, in fact. They never have been.”

Anduin sighed, “and you’re lecturing me because that black dragon happens to be one I know quite well, correct?”

“Yes,” Genn answered.

“Right,” Anduin said. “Go on.”

“We managed to tide off Azshara – just barely – and while we did that he plucked you from the freezing waters right under our noses. He carried you off before she could react. We couldn't find you for days, and we feared the worst. Azshara fled almost immediately after you were taken – it seems you were her only reason for appearing.”

Anduin bit his lip.

Why was Azshara so interested in just him? She had half the Alliance at her feet in that moment, why hadn’t she continued?

“It is the same dragon that let Garrosh Hellscream escape, is it not?” Jaina asked. Anduin hadn’t noticed her standing in the doorway, nor did he know how long she had been there.

“Yes,” Anduin said. “It is that one. There are two black dragons I know of, and one of them has aligned himself with the horde.”

Jaina scoffed.

Anduin looked up at Genn, “did he flee before you could capture him?”

“Of course,” Genn said. “He’s a black dragon, they’re slippery creatures. We argued some and he left me with a few choice words. The only reason we didn't pursue him is because he saved you. Otherwise, I would have killed him without hesitation.”

“Do you know where he might have gone?”

“Anduin,” Genn warned, knowing full well where Anduin was going with that question. “Do not seek out the black dragon.”

“Why would I not?”

“He may have saved you, but his betrayal far outweighs whatever he did for you when Azshara attacked. If anything, this was just a ploy to put himself back in your favour.”

“I have no doubt that was why he did it,” Anduin said. “There was no way he would have been there to save me if he hadn’t been spying for some time. He has something planned.”

“Then why, pray tell, would you go looking for him?” The tension in Genn's shoulders told Anduin he was mere seconds from shouting.

“To ask why he was following me so closely,” Anduin said, “perhaps he knew something about Azshara’s plans to attack, and I know he is expecting me to come find him after all that.”

“A black dragon’s intentions are never pure, and their helpful actions never come without strings attached – and many.” Genn said. “I would advise against this, my King.”

“Wrathion would never harm me,” Anduin said. It felt odd, finally saying his name after so many years. “Moreover, if he had wanted to harm me, he would have done it long ago.”

Genn scoffed, as did Jaina from behind him. The others in the room shared quick, judgemental looks.

“Doubt all you will, but I know him better than most after our time in Pandaria,” Anduin said. “His betrayal was cruel and caused many deaths – indirectly, the death of my own father – but his intentions hadn’t been evil. Foolish and misguided, yes.”

“Anduin...”

“An evil black dragon would not have spent hours listening to my prattle about peace and harmony for hours – or get flustered when I insulted him – when he could have easily rent me down and handed me over to the horde to get his way. I was an easy target, especially then. I am angry with him, and I don’t fully trust him - nor will I ever - but he could be helpful in our fight against the Horde and Azshara. With his ring of spies, I’m certain he knows more than we do.”

“I understand, Anduin, but that was many years ago. He was merely a whelp, then. On top of that, our SI:7 is fantastic. We don't need his help.”

“They are, indeed, fantastic,” Anduin said, “but Wrathion’s spies employ less honourable methods to get their information. Though their tactics are often morally lacking, it gets them more information than we could hope for. I am certain this is how he knew Azshara would strike. We are running out of soldiers and resources - we need whatever help we can get.”

“Anduin,” Genn sighed and shook his head. "Not like this."

“Genn,” Anduin said sternly. “Trust your king.”

Genn clenched his fists at his sides.

“Tell me where he is,” Anduin demanded. It was rare that he ever raised his voice or spoke against Genn, but sometimes a strong hand was required to reign him in. His father had also warned him of that many times. Despite his oftentimes foul temper, he was loyal to a fault.

Genn, clearly internally struggling, continued despite his own reservations. “We are not certain, but word has come that he has holed himself up in Blackrock Mountain.”

Anduin snorted, unkinglike behaviour, but the exhaustion had claimed some of his more regal senses. “Really? Blackrock Mountain? It's like he's begging for someone to take issue with him.”

“Your majesty?”

“Prepare my gryphon,” Anduin said. "I'll leave for Blackrock Mountain tonight."

»»————- ————-««

Anduin wouldn’t pretend that the anxiety wasn’t getting to him, but he did his best to hide it from Genn and Jaina as he mounted his gryphon. At any sign of doubt about this meeting, he was certain they would tie him down to keep him from leaving. As it stood, they had forced him to take the champion and two guards with him.

As they grew closer, he felt, first and foremost, unbridled rage toward the dragon, both for his betrayal, for indirectly causing his father’s death, and for the legion’s advancement and the many deaths it caused. This, however, wasn’t what was causing the anxiety. It was the longing for the return of his once friend that made him anxious. The dragon left a trail of death and destruction in his wake, much like Neltharion, and still Anduin had missed his company.

When the mountain finally came into view, Anduin lowered his head, digging his fingers into the bridle of his gryphon as he wondered how their reunion would go. He had a sinking feeling that Wrathion would laugh in his face and brush it off as nothing, but he had hope for more. He hoped for growth in his old friend.

He ignored the concerned look of the champion. There was no point in getting them worked up as they landed.

There were many Blacktalon agents spread out at the front of the spire. However, they parted like the sea when he landed. It was no surprise that Wrathion had told them to expect him.

His guards eyed him, some with a smirk, and ducked out of his way as he entered the spire. Some pointed him in the direction of Wrathion’s chambers, and some even bowed and greeted him with his title. He tried to ignore the ones that snickered and whispered in one another’s ears as he passed.

What tales about him had Wrathion shared with his followers, he wondered.

He didn’t have much time to ruminate on this as he and the champion were soon standing before Left and Right, the all too familiar faces of Wrathion’s personal guard. The two parted for him at the door to their master’s chamber with a sharp nod of acknowledgment.

He lifted his hands to push the door open, but hesitated. He was certain both Left, Right, and his champion didn’t miss it, but they didn’t comment as he gently pushed his way into the room after composing himself.

It was as extravagant as Anduin had expected, and then some. Decorated in lavish hues of black and gold, and just dimly lit enough that everything around cast deep shadows. Ornate tapestries covered the brittle stone walls, and long trains of red carpet sprawled across the floor as far as the eye could see.

It no longer looked anything like the Blackwing Lair Anduin had heard about so many times before.

At the center, standing as the most eye-catching piece in the room, stood Wrathion. His armour was now a decadent black and gold. On one shoulder, he sported a heavy golden mantle in the shape of a dragon's head, which served to pin a black half-cape to his side. His outfit was nothing like the earthy purple and green shades from Pandaria, and he no longer sported the comically large turban he once favoured. Instead, he let the long growth of his horns peek out from under his dark, tousled hair. They were magnificent horns – long and lethally sharp at their ends. Wrathion had even gone out of his way to cover their edges in gold filigree. He was obviously very proud of them - proud of them in the same way a human with beautiful hair is proud.

Anduin remembered – long ago – Wrathion removing his turban to let him look at the nubs of his horns that were just barely sprouting from under his hair. Anduin had laughed at him, and Wrathion had grown flustered and hid them. He has assured Anduin they would grow to be beautiful, and he promised to never let Anduin see them when they finally grew in.

Wrathion had only been partially lying.

Case in point, Anduin hadn’t expected to be met with a downcast expression from the normally smarmy dragon. When he entered the room, he had expected to be met with a smug grin and a harsh quip. The look was only momentary, and quickly curled into a cruel grin, but Anduin had seen it.  
  
Guilt.

It had caught him off guard.

“Prince And- no, King Anduin,” Wrathion said, bowing with his usual flourish. Anduin could tell the title felt weird on his tongue, and it was no wonder. Last they’d seen one another, Anduin was but a child. A princeling. Human’s grew fast, much faster than most races.

“Wrathion,” Anduin nodded, offering only a short bow.

“I forgot how quickly human’s grow,” Wrathion said as he looked Anduin over slowly - as if he hadn't been spying on him for years.

“Yes, well, I had to grow even faster to fill my father’s shoes after his untimely death,” Anduin retorted. The comment was an obvious snipe at Wrathion, and his barely visible wince let Anduin know it had hit its target.

Anduin stared Wrathion down after this, both enjoying having leverage, and anxious to hear Wrathion’s explanation for his actions. There was a very real chance Wrathion would shirk him off and act as though the betrayal was simply a trivial matter.

Anduin understood, in the end, why Wrathion had done what he had. He understood shortly after he and Kairoz had run off with Garrosh, in fact. What he couldn’t understand was how Wrathion thought it would work. The plan would have been genius if he hadn’t been working with two of the most volatile people Azeroth had to offer.

How did he think he could control them?

Wrathion sighed, “doubtless you have many questions.”

Anduin cocked his head and raised a brow. 

“You must know, Anduin, that my intentions were purely for the better of Azeroth. Many terrible things happened as a result of my alliance with Garrosh and Kairoz, I acknowledge that, but I never anticipated Garrosh doing what he did.”

“You never anticipated Garrosh Hellscream betraying you?” Anduin didn’t think he could raise his eyebrows any higher. “What an interesting parallel, I didn’t expect you to betray me either, despite your parentage. I suppose we're both guilty of being terrible judges of character.”

He was being petty, behaviour not fit for the High King of the Alliance, certainly. He was here to get answers from Wrathion, and here he was making cheap jabs at him like a wounded child.

“I admit that I may have had too much faith in him,” Wrathion said, pointedly ignoring Anduin’s last comment, “but what was I to do? No one was listening to me about the looming threat of the Legion. I did what I thought needed to be done, Anduin.”

“Wrathion, you brought the Legion to our doorstep with your mistake. We may have had years to prepare – we might have seen their coming – and instead they were here without so much as a second of warning.”

“I know,” Wrathion said. “We took heavy casualties, I am not denying that, but Anduin, think about it. Horde and Alliance forces united the moment they arrived, they had no choice, and we won because of it.”

“We hardly won,” Anduin said. “Sargeras plunged a sword deep into the heart of Azeroth – she’s dying because of this – many continue to die."

“Trust me, Anduin, I feel it more than most,” Wrathion’s eyes were downcast. If there was one thing Wrathion would always be sincere about, it was the fate of Azeroth.

“I knew that was your reason for freeing Garrosh, but I always wanted to believe there was more to it than that. I always wanted to believe there was some brilliant plan you had waiting for the Legion, but you never showed your face. We suffered – both sides suffered.”

“Anduin, there is much more to it than that.”

“No, you will stand there and let me get my grievances off my chest,” Anduin said. "I have been thinking about this day for years."

This shift in tone surprised both Wrathion, his personal guard, and the champion who stood with them. Anduin had tried to compose himself, but those efforts proved fruitless. 

“Even after my father’s death, not even so much as an apology? No offer of your aid? Light, for someone who claimed to have cherished my friendship so dearly, you had an awful way of showing it. Was I really just another pawn in your quest to get soldiers? You’re certainly no different than any other part of Black Dragonflight scourge if that is the case."

"Anduin, listen to me-"

"There is very little stopping me from ending your flight right here."

Left and Right both moved forward at this, but Wrathion raised his hand to stop them. He didn't take his eyes off Anduin. 

“Anduin, you must know that I wasn’t lying when I said you were a dear friend. Had I really wanted, I could have handed you over to the Horde the moment you let your guard down at the Tavern – which didn’t take long with the naïve boy you were. Had I done that, the horde would have won.”

“You don’t know that,” Anduin snapped.

“I do, because I knew Varian Wrynn loved his son deeply, and would have gladly surrendered the Alliance to get him back,” Wrathion said. “But I didn’t give you over to the Horde.”  
  
Anduin continued to seethe, but Wrathion pressed on. 

Wrathion paused, “at first, I found you too interesting to simply throw away, though I was still secretly favouring the Horde. Shortly, however, I grew fond of your presence. I thought you were a kind-spirited, if not naïve, boy with potential to be a good and benevolent King. With Garrosh’s growing violence, I knew that if I let the Horde win, you would perish at his hands – or worse. I could not have lived with that, so I supported the Alliance in their Siege of Orgrimmar despite knowing that I would not get what I wanted.”

Anduin shook his head.

“If I am to be chastised for anything,” Wrathion said, “let it be for putting one person over the possible fate of Azeroth.”

The champion behind Anduin was growing anxious, so Anduin stepped forward to keep them from acting out against reason.

“So, I’m to blame for the ills that have befallen Azeroth, is that it?”

“Partly, yes, but not intentionally. Though there is no telling what would have happened had the horde come out the victors. I'm a black dragon, not a bronze.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“So I’ve been told,” Wrathion said.

“Is that all, then?”

“Yes,” Wrathion said, and with a hint of resistance, “and above all, I am sorry for what I’ve done to you, Anduin. I do assure you, however, that there were reasons for my absence after the unfortunate snag in my plan.”

It was as sincere as Anduin could get from him. The legion had perished three years prior – there was no point in griping with a stubborn dragon about it any longer. The boiling rage in him had dulled to a simmer - it wasn't much, but it was something.

There were more important matters at hand, after all. Matters like Azshara.

“I suppose this can be discussed at another time,” Anduin said, understanding that Wrathion would not be compliant should it ever come up again. “Right now, I need to know why you were following me around Kul’Tiras, and why you seemed so prepared for Azshara’s attack.”

“I’ve always had spies following you,” Wrathion said, “from the moment I brought Garrosh to Draenor and fled.”

“I’m not surprised,” Anduin said. “What I don’t understand is why it was you, personally, that was following me in Kul’Tiras. Why not one of your grunts?”

“I knew Azshara would strike – it was just a matter of when. I didn’t want to take the chance and have one of my guards following you. It was a tiresome slog following you for weeks as you tended to the poor and needy in Kul’Tiras with that bothersome Fordragon woman, by the way.”

Anduin waved Wrathion off as he began complaining, recognizing the telltale signs of Wrathion preparing to rant. “Wait, you knew about Azshara’s attack?”

“Well, yes and no. Like I said, I didn’t so much hear about it as much as I observed her behaviour. During their invasion of Aszuna, I noted that her army had become much more formidable. I figured there was no better time for her to attack the Alliance than when they were separated from Stormwind and slumming it in Kul’Tiras – a land mass surrounded by water. I wasn’t taking chances.”

“Chances on what?”

“The Alliance perishing at your death,” Wrathion said, as if that should have been obvious. “Azshara is intelligent enough to know that it would fall apart should you die before you have an heir.”

“The Alliance would not fall apart over that,” Anduin sighed.

“The Alliance would, because Genn Greymane is out of control in his bloodlust for the Horde – or Sylvanas Windrunner, in particular. Lady Jaina wants nothing more than to destroy the entirety of the Horde for all time, and the Night Elves have an insatiable blood lust after the ravaging of the world tree. Yes, Anduin, the Alliance would fall apart without you.”

“Listen to yourself.”

“I’ve been watching for a long time, Anduin,” Wrathion said. “I know what happens behind closed doors among your leaders.”

“You speak as though they want me dead.”

“No,” Wrathion said, shaking his head. “They like you too much to want to kill you, and you’ve given them no reason to dislike you - yet. That said, they don’t respect your authority over them. They dearly love you, but they don’t like your position as High King of the Alliance. They make plans for the day you might fail, backup plans that have never been run by you. Should you die, there are many of them who would clamor for power.”

“You don’t know that,” Anduin said.

“Yes, but it is the likely outcome. Azshara knew this, and that was why she went specifically for you rather than attacking the Alliance head on. She has spies, just as I do, and maybe more.”

It made sense. Anduin didn't like that it made sense.

“Why us before the Horde, then?”

“The Horde is doing a fantastic job of tearing itself apart. Sylvanas Windrunner is creating friction among every Horde allied race all on her own. Azshara is working on the more...united front, at the moment.”

“That would explain her attack,” Anduin said. “Then my last question – what’s in all this for you? There is no more legion threat, and your forces are strong enough to just keep away from both factions as long as you live. If anything, you’d fare better just letting us kill one another. What do you want?”

“Can I not simply be worried about the fate of a dear friend?”

“Wrathion, I don’t have time for your mind games right now.”

“Fine, if you won’t believe that, then believe me when I tell you that Azshara is a much bigger threat than the entire force of the Horde. On top of that, Old Gods stir beneath the surface after the damage Azeroth sustained. Terrible things are coming to a head all at once, Anduin, and I’d prefer the Alliance stay together before things come to one cataclysmic end.”

“Ah, now that sounds more like the Wrathion I remember,” Anduin said.

“What, paranoid?” Wrathion quipped.

“No,” Anduin said, “not quite. You certainly act paranoid, but you were right about the Legion, and Azshara’s threat is a very real one.”

“Then why, if it is so serious, dear Anduin,” Wrathion said as he stepped closer and pressed the top of one talon under Anduin’s chin, “do you marr that pretty face with such a rude expression?”

Anduin was caught off guard by the action, but still snorted a laugh. Such charm would have worked on Anduin had he still been a teenage boy, but he was a grown man now.

Anduin had also become all too familiar with this old tactic of Wrathion’s.

Often, in Pandaria, when Wrathion had been losing arguments, he’d opt to compliment Anduin until his face would turn several shades of red. Anduin would splutter and trip over his words out of embarrassment, thus giving Wrathion the upper hand. It was cheap, of course, but black dragons had never been known to be fair.

Wrathion tutted, “that is no way for a royal to be acting.”

“I would hardly call this a formal setting,” Anduin said.

Wrathion, of course, was not fazed in the least by Anduin’s passive behaviour. Instead, he continued relentlessly pitching his plan. He was much like Genn in that way, though he knew the two of them would constantly be at odds should they ever meet. Just imagining them both haranguing him at once was a truly exhausting thought.

“Then what do you propose we do about this situation?” Anduin asked. He went back to being serious with Wrathion. Though the dragon brought out his carefully reigned in impish nature, he pulled it back under with ease. There still wasn't a bone in his body that trusted Wrathion, and no part of him had forgiven him for his wrongdoings. However, Anduin would do anything to win the war, even go so far as to reforge a bond that should otherwise have been left broken.

Azshara – the war – was starting to cause a strain on them, even with the help of the Kul’Tiran naval fleet. If Wrathion had a true, viable plan, then Anduin would consider it. If he didn't, then Anduin could still make use of Wrathion's Blacktalons.

“You won’t like this,” Wrathion said.

Anduin sighed, long-suffering, “let me guess, destroy the Horde?”

Wrathion cocked his head, “you know me too well.”

Anduin brushed a hand through his hair. It was tangled and unruly from their long flight over the sea. “Believe me when I say I wish it were that easy.”

“But it is,” Wrathion said firmly. “The Horde is already fractured, and Saurfang has pulled many from under Sylvanas. All it would take is a sharp push and their faction would crumble. This is an amazing opportunity, Anduin.”

“I would hardly call the destruction of a faction made up of otherwise decent beings an ‘amazing opportunity’,” Anduin said. “Despite the evil of Sylvanas Windrunner, the Horde is still made up of some good people, Wrathion. These things are never so black and white. I wish they were all as evil as the legion and it would be as simple as killing them all, but it just isn’t.”

“Of course they aren’t all evil,” Wrathion said. “But, as is often required in war, sacrifices must be made for the greater good. Right now, Anduin Llane Wrynn, you are the greater good.”

Anduin scoffed, “I am far from that.”

“Well,” Wrathion said, “out of all the evils in this world, you are the lesser evil. Does that suit you better?”

Anduin sighed, “I don’t particularly like that, either.”

“Either way, Anduin, a decision must be made. This war will go on for years and it will eventually have to end, likely when whatever side has burned up all their resources first, and I know the Alliance has seen better days."

“It doesn’t always have to end in one side being the victor,” Anduin cocked his head. “You should remember, Wrathion, you became quite good at Jihui during our time in Pandaria.”

Wrathion waved him off. “This is not a board game, Anduin. It’s never so easy in real life.”

A bout of silence passed between them, both considering, when Anduin caught Wrathion staring down at his leg. Anduin had been carefully resting the brunt of his weight on his good leg, but clearly not discreetly enough to avoid Wrathion's notice.

“Come, sit,” Wrathion said.

Anduin complied silently, sitting across the table from Wrathion. The champion stood by the door with Left and Right, who shared a flask of what looked to be mead with them. It seemed the champion got on well with the two women. They seemed to enjoy their silent company.

“Your leg still bothers you?” Wrathion asked. He leaned in a little closer, his words quiet enough that the others wouldn’t hear. Anduin was thankful for his consideration, but bothered that he knew this was likely an act.

“Some days are worse than others,” Anduin found himself admitting. “On days where I expend a lot of mana, or days where I haven’t gotten enough rest, it is difficult for me to keep the light flowing through me. Those days are plentiful now that I am king.”

“You do not seek help from your healers?”

“I feel as though it would look bad if I were running back and forth to and from the infirmary,” Anduin said. “No one wants a weak king. You said it yourself.”

Wrathion scoffed, “nonsense. This is in no way meant to offend, Anduin, but you were never going to be a strong King like your father, at least not physically. Your strength lies in your intelligence and boyish charm.”

Anduin furrowed his brows, “that certainly sounds like a veiled insult.”

“But, it isn’t,” Wrathion said confidently. “Your father was a brilliant military commander, but he was a savage brute to the very end – he lacked the soft but firm hands you rule your kingdom with.”

Anduin let out a breathy laugh, “Wouldn’t a brute work best for you – someone that would rend the Horde down without hesitation? I’m hardly an active participant in your ideas. I never have been.”

“Well, yes,” Wrathion said hesitantly, “but your father was corrupted by your... kind-heartedness. Had I gotten to him a few years earlier, I’m certain he would have launched a full scale attack on the Horde with very little pushing. In Pandaria, however, he wouldn’t budge.”

“He also didn’t like you very much,” Anduin said with a raise of his brows.

“Yes, well, I’m certain that had a lot to do with my attachment to you, and yours to me. Your father was a worrier, and given the Alliance’s reputation with the Black Dragonflight, he had good reason. You were once abducted by my aunt and nearly killed, after all.”

Anduin snorted.

“I’m also quite certain he saw the way you became feverish when you spent time with me."

“Wrathion,” Anduin warned, though there was a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. His memories of Pandaria, before Garrosh’s escape, were fond ones – even his injury. He had grown closer to his father in that time. He had also made his very first friend - not a noble forced to spend time with him by his father.

“Please, King Anduin, I wasn’t blind. One light push and I’m certain you would have clambered into my bed. I’m certain Varian could read that, too.”

Dragons, for all their endless wisdom, were not very good with words or reading the room.

The champion cleared their throat from the door behind them. They had heard that comment, and didn’t like it very much. Left and Right shared a quick look.

Anduin raised a hand for them to relax.

Wrathion looked at Anduin seriously, “I am being quite serious, Anduin. Even if you won’t take the easy route and destroy the Horde, I am offering you my full and honest support. No more secrets like in Pandaria, I will support the Alliance – whether you want my help or not. The Alliance needs to survive."

Anduin stared at the floor as if it held some great secret, wondering whether or not this would come back to haunt him. But, like Wrathion said, the Alliance needed to survive. If that meant working with Wrathion, then so be it. He had the forces they needed.

Anduin held out his hand to Wrathion, “don’t make me regret this.”

Wrathion gripped his arm, his sharp talons nearly piercing Anduin’s skin, “you won’t, my King.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this is my first time writing for WoW and I have to say that I'm incredibly anxious. I've been playing for a long time and always wanted to delve into writing fanfiction, but I always found it to be daunting given the extensive lore. However! The announcement for the launch of BFA actually brought with it a lot of theories, so I finally decided to jump on the train. 
> 
> I've actually been working - for quite some time - on a Wrathion story about his time immediately following the release of Garrosh Hellscream - and hopefully up to his actual canon return in the game. However, I'm planning to work on that for a loooooong time before it ever sees the light of day. It's my brainchild, and I adore writing for characters like Wrathion. In the meantime, I thought it would be fun to write a canon compliant (as far as what's been released) fic about how I'd like to see them bring Wrathion back in, and what I'd like to see them do with him! 
> 
> I have a good part of this story typed up already (she's a long one) because I was enjoying fleshing out my theories a little too much. I hope you guys enjoy! 
> 
> I'll be updating this fairly regularly given that I've already written so much. It's honestly just a matter of how fast I can edit!


	2. Plea

Anduin was glad that he had convinced Wrathion to ride on his gryphon with him. Had he not, he was certain Jaina would have struck him out of the air as soon as he came into view. Even from high above, he could feel the anger radiating off both her and Genn as they waited outside the embassy.   
  
He had sent a guard ahead to warn them that Wrathion would be returning to share information, but he was certain they hadn't taken well to the news, and for good reason. Anduin himself was hesitant about bringing Wrathion into Stormwind.   
  
Anduin swallowed and steeled himself for the inevitable storm this decision was going to cause.   
  
When they landed, Anduin turned to see Wrathion absolutely revelling in the negative attention. Jaina stood back, poised to attack should Wrathion do anything. Genn, however, stalked up to them, already shifted into his worgen form.   
  
Wrathion hopped off the gryphon behind him, standing stock straight and smirking as Genn charged up to him.  
  
“Whelp, I should—”  
  
Anduin threw his leg over his gryphon quickly, despite the pain that rocketed up his leg, and blocked Genn from Wrathion. Genn growled, his eyes still locked on Wrathion’s. Anduin didn’t need to see Wrathion’s face to know he was taunting him with a mocking smile.  
  
“Stop, Genn,” Anduin said. He was slightly breathless from the flight over, so his voice didn’t hold as much authority as he was hoping.  
  
Genn stopped, but only inches from Anduin.  
  
“Why is he with you?” Genn asked. His teeth were bared, and though he was speaking to Anduin, his eyes never left Wrathion's.  
  
“Let’s go inside to discuss this,” Anduin said. “I would like to call a meeting with our leaders, as well. It's urgent.”  
  
“Anduin, tell me you didn’t make a deal with this dragon,” Jaina said, shaking her head.  
  
“I will do whatever it takes to keep the Alliance standing,” Anduin responded.  
  
“Anduin—”  
  
“Enough,” Anduin said. “Call the other leaders. You may pester me all you want after I have said my piece.”  
  
“Yes, my King,” Genn responded. He focussed one last heated glare over his shoulder at Wrathion, then followed Jaina as they left to contact the rest of the Alliance.  
  
This would be, perhaps, one of the most difficult things he’d done since taking the throne. The Void Elves had been a trying task, but a Black Dragon – a grandson of Deathwing? Anduin was a fantastic speaker, but Wrathion had been right – he lacked authority – particularly with the scorned Night Elves. He worried about how intense their reaction would be to his presence.   
  
“Having second thoughts, my King?” Wrathion asked.  
  
Anduin spun to look at him, “no, I meant what I said. The rest of the Alliance will understand - they have to.”  
  
Wrathion nodded, “I have faith in you, my King.”

»»————- ————-««

  
  
The looks shared with each of the leaders as they arrived ranged anywhere from venomous to deadly. Nothing less.  
  
Anduin stood at the head of the room with Wrathion languidly leaning against the table behind them. He tried to ignore the smirks he centered on each leader as they entered the embassy. He had told him to tone it down, but he knew Wrathion well enough to know that wouldn’t happen. He’d rarely ever seen that coy smile fall.  
  
Anduin swallowed thickly after everyone had filed in, hoping that no one could see the hesitation in his eyes. He didn’t want to look meek and unsure of his decision in front of the other leaders.  
  
Wrathion had said they didn’t fully respect his authority, and that was going to be tested to its full extent during the meeting.  
  
When he started addressing them all individually, his own voice sounded distant to his ears. He was so focussed on staying stern, and so focussed on what he wanted to say, that he couldn’t keep track of what was happening. He hoped the others didn’t notice.  
  
“As many of you remember from our time spent in Pandaria,” Anduin said. “Next to me stands Wrathion, one of the very last black dragons.”  
  
No one in the room said anything, though their eyes were all focussed heavily on Wrathion. Anduin would feel upset for him if he didn’t know that Wrathion was soaking up the attention like a sponge.  
  
“Over the past few years, he has amassed a great following, a following that would be beneficial in the Alliance’s victory over the Horde. Among his followers are some of the best spies Azeroth has to offer, and I say this with no insult to the SI:7. Wrathion and his spies were able to predict Azshara’s attack on the Alliance – on me – and as a result, I was spared. I would have perished had Wrathion not kept me away from Azshara, and I would encourage you all to remember as we continue.”  
  
Anduin opened his mouth to continue, but Tyrande, instead, cut him off.  
  
Tyrande levelled a look with Wrathion, “how did you know she would attack him?” The question was accusatory.  
  
“I’ve had my spies following Anduin from the moment I met him,” Wrathion admitted with no hesitation. “I assure you, however, there was no malicious intent behind this. If there was, Anduin would be long dead. You have been, and I'm certain always will be, bad at keeping tabs on your royalty.”  
  
Tyrande nearly snarled, turning her gaze back on Anduin. Though she didn’t say anything, words weren’t needed to communicate what she was feeling. She wanted to know what Anduin was thinking.  
  
“We can all agree that his spies are of a high caliber if they were able to follow me – protected heavily since my ascent to the throne – without ever being caught. Wrathion’s spies have been following the leaders of the Horde for as long as they have been watching us,” Anduin said. “They have also been watching Azshara, and her threat is a very real, very dangerous one. We saw the growth of her army in Azsuna, and felt it firsthand when Azshara herself attacked in Kul'Tiras.”  
  
“How are we to believe the information he shares about Azshara?” Malfurion asked.  
  
Anduin was noting how the leaders weren’t meeting his eyes as they asked him questions, instead levelling Wrathion with sharp looks.  
  
“Azshara attacked us when we were weakest, and Wrathion himself had been following when she did. He knew, because his spies had gathered enough intel to know when and how they would strike. Azshara is a grave threat to all of Azeroth, not just the Alliance.”  
  
“What say you about this, Whelp?” Tyrande asked.  
  
Anduin was shocked by how brazen she was in the face of someone Anduin had inducted into the Alliance, but he let Wrathion say his piece.  
  
Wrathion opted to ignore her rude comment, though Anduin could tell by the slight shift in the set of his shoulders that the moniker angered him. “I spoke at length with Anduin about this. Azshara has been gaining power at an increasing speed over the past few years, and she’s amassed enough strength at this point to brazenly attack the High King of the Alliance in front of two of the Alliance’s strongest soldiers. If this doesn’t tell you you’re in danger, then let the knowledge that Old Gods begin to stir beneath the surface after the heavy damage Azeroth has sustained tell you."

“Is this true?” Tyrande asked, turning her gaze back to Anduin. It was the first time anyone had properly looked at him since the beginning of their meeting.  
  
“I am not heavily in tune with the earth like a black dragon,” Anduin said. “But would it not make sense for them to have been stirred by what has, and what is currently happening? We steal Azeroth's lifeblood and use it to make weapons.”  
  
The other members of the Alliance seemed to momentarily forget their hate for Wrathion as they considered this information. The look of worry on their faces, particularly Tyrande and Malfurion's, were not lost on Anduin.  
  
“We have the Horde breathing down our neck, and now we have Azshara and Old Gods to worry about.” Alleria said more than asked. “This is a terrible situation. Though the Legion is gone, their damage is still felt.”  
  
“What do you suggest we do then, my King?” Tyrande asked.  
  
Anduin knew what most of them were thinking – knew what Wrathion was thinking – but he chose to speak what he believed. The others could argue all they wanted, but he would always stand firm. He liked to believe that this was what his father would have done in this situation.  
  
“Azshara first, then we deal with the Horde.”  
  
The room grew loud with protest the moment the words left his mouth.  
  
“Would it not make sense to be rid of the Horde while it is weak?” Alleria asked. The set of her shoulders gave the impression of anger, though her face was difficult to read.  
  
“Sylvanas Windrunner must be stopped before we take on as big a force as Azshara,” Tyrande said. “The Horde has no honour, they will attack the moment we are rid of Azshara, and they will not help us. They will attack while we are weak.”  
  
“We need to be rid of the Horde while they are divided, my King,” Genn shared. "Regardless of your respect for Saurfang, he is still Horde. We need to be rid of both he and Sylvanas."  
  
Moira nodded in agreement with the complaints, and even Gelbin hesitantly nodded along.  
  
It seemed that the whole of the Alliance was against Anduin.  
  
“If I could share my thoughts,” Wrathion said, causing the entire room to dip into a heavy silence.  
  
If there was one thing being hated did, it certainly let you have your soapbox.  
  
Anduin bit his lip, prepared to hear Wrathion’s dastardly plan to destroy the whole of the Horde.  
  
“I support Anduin and his intent to remove the threat of Azshara before the Horde. Azshara must be put to a stop before she grows stronger, lest Azeroth sustain anymore damage. It seems as though the Horde will remain divided so long as Sylvanas Windrunner is Warchief. We have time. I agree that the Horde should be dealt with, but it can wait. I will keep my spies on her at all times, and should she make a move, the information will be relayed back to you.”  
  
Anduin supressed the shocked expression that was threatening to marr his stern face.  
  
A heavy silence followed this, but Tyrande was determined. “You are simply trying to get in the King’s good graces, serpent. Don’t think anyone is fooled.”  
  
“I already am in his good graces, High Priestess. I also believed that the Horde should be destroyed, I have since Orgrimmar was besieged, but when I pledged my allegiance to the Alliance – I also pledged it to the authority of the High King. I trust in him, do you?”  
  
Tyrande snarled, “you miserable whe—”  
  
“Enough,” Anduin shouted. Tyrande’s ears jumped in surprise – it was rare that Anduin raised his voice.  
  
“Tyrande, I have allowed Wrathion and his followers into the Alliance. They saved us from a great crisis, and they’ve also let us know about Azshara’s rapid advance. Without them, we would have been blind to it all as we fought endlessly with the Horde. Though his behaviour may be crude, you may not refer to him as ‘whelp’ or any such derogatory terms from here on. He is an ally now, just as much as you are.”  
  
“He let Garrosh Hellscream free,” Tyrande shouted. "He has caused thousands of deaths - he is no better than the rest of his brood. He is a war criminal."  
  
Finally, the elephant in the room had been addressed. He watched some of the tension ease out of the shoulders of the other followers that were remaining quiet through the arguing. Not only was he a black dragon, but he was also a traitorous one.  
  
“Many of our people died because of this,” Tyrande cried. “By Elune, Anduin, he knocked you unconscious and betrayed your trust! Your father is dead because of his actions. How can you trust him?”  
  
Both Anduin’s leg and his head were beginning to throb violently. There was so much to say, but he felt his patience wearing thin. Did they not trust him when he went to speak to Wrathion? He would explain, he was trying.  
  
Anduin opened his mouth to defend himself, but Wrathion did the talking for him.  
  
“Though none of you know me like Anduin did in Pandaria,” Wrathion said, “I can assure you my intentions in having him escape were not bad. Anduin knows this. It was a poor choice on my part, but it was not done with hopes of bringing the Legion so quickly, nor was it done to harm either the Horde or the Alliance. I, quite misguidedly, believed that I could have the Horde and the Alliance work together against a common enemy to incite peace before the Legion came. Though that did happen, the Horde was quick to turn their backs as soon as the Legion threat was vanquished. My interference was unnecessary.”  
  
Anduin was shocked by Wrathion’s willingness to bend so far to please Tyrande, and even further surprised by what followed.  
  
“I have already apologized to Anduin,” Wrathion said, “and I would like to extend that apology to all of you – to the whole of the Alliance. This will not make up for the vast loss of lives, or my treachery, but it is the most I can offer in this moment. Given time, though it will never make up for my actions, I would like to help prevent a further loss by offering my aid.”  
  
Another heavy silence followed this, but Anduin noted how Tyrande sunk back into her chair. Her expression did not soften, but some of the tension had left her, as it did for many of the other leaders. Wrathion was being completely upfront with them, leaving them no room to attack him. Wrathion was laying himself bare.  
  
Wrathion could read the room well, and Anduin was thankful for it. He had fully expected the dragon to be difficult and stand there, smug, as the room all descended on Anduin like wolves.  
  
“You have a great deal of proving to do, little dragon,” Malfurion said. “I thank you for protecting our King, but you are aware that that isn’t enough to gain our trust. I’m certain you can see why everyone is so hesitant. Our past with the Black Dragonflight has been a troubled one that goes well beyond your own traitorous actions.”  
  
“That is an understatement,” Wrathion said. “I am well aware, but I intend to offer as much help as possible from here on. I am certain my word is nothing after all that has happened, but it is all I can offer at this time.”  
  
Another figure that didn’t try to spark controversy. Malfurion was a serious person, had every reason to want to attack the Horde after the taking of Darkshore, but instead he patiently waited for Anduin’s word. They wouldn’t trust Wrathion, perhaps for as long as the Alliance remained, but it was a start.  
  
Jaina looked wholly unconvinced, but she remained quiet through the entirety of the meeting. Anduin had no doubt that she would approach him alone, perhaps in his own quarters late at night. He was appreciative, in fact, for even if it was criticism he always appreciated Jaina’s council.  
  
The meeting ended relatively quick after Wrathion and Malfurion had exchanged words. It seemed as though many respected Malfurion's word, and when Malfurion were sated, so were the others.  
  
Anduin didn’t know how to feel about that, but he was glad to be done with the proceedings for the night. It had been a long year, and an even longer three days. Much had happened, and much more was due to happen.  
  
One night of peaceful sleep was all he asked for. 

»»————- ————-««

  
  
Of course, peaceful sleep did not happen.  
  
When he returned to his quarters after showing Wrathion to a spare room beside his, he removed his armour haphazardly and dropped onto his bed. He fell asleep in seconds, but was woken only minutes after. 

Jaina, of course.  
  
Anduin was tired, wanted nothing more than to brush her off, but he was anxious to receive her council after the night’s proceedings. Her face showed nothing the whole night – he wanted to know what she really believed. Anduin himself wasn't fully convinced of Wrathion's apology - he knew all too well how the dragon worked - but he desperately wanted to believe him.  
  
So he stood and made himself as presentable as possible. He didn’t put his armour back on – this was Jaina, after all. There was no need to posture.  
  
When Jaina entered, she did so with a flourish. Her steps were quick, and she sat herself down at the informal sitting table in Anduin’s chambers, her arms crossed in front of her chest. It didn’t look good, but Jaina was always a difficult character to read.  
  
Anduin ambled over, his leg giving him some trouble after standing for so long at the meeting. He sat across from her, trying his best not to groan as his bones creaked.  
  
He watched as she murmured some arcane spell or another, and a bright flash of blue made sparks behind his eyes.  
  
“What did you do?”  
  
“The dragon is nearby, we don’t need him listening in on this,” Jaina said.  
  
“Ah,” was all Anduin murmured in response.  
  
“You fully trust him, Anduin?” Jaina asked. “The dragon?”  
  
“Certainly not,” Anduin said, “but we need all the help we can get. I trust him enough to not kill us all, and his words seemed sincere enough. I can say with certainty that he was grandstanding when he apologized to the other leaders, but I do believe he is sorry in his own way.”  
  
“You’re putting a lot of faith into him,” Jaina said. “You’re daring, Anduin. This is a move even your father wouldn’t have chanced.”  
  
“We spoke about this at length, but if Wrathion had really wanted me dead, he would have done so long ago. He had many opportunities. Like he said, his spies have been following me since Pandaria. Wrathion even followed me in Kul’Tiras for weeks to make certain Azshara wouldn’t kill me.”  
  
“This could be a truly horrible plan he’s brewing, Anduin. I’m certain you are aware of this.”  
  
“I’ve thought about that,” Anduin said, “but the worst of Wrathion’s plans always involve destroying one faction or another. He does, quite desperately, want the destruction of the splintered Horde. In fact, I was shocked that he supported me during the meeting when he so actively spoke against me when we were in private."  
  
Jaina rested her chin atop her clasped hands. She regarded Anduin carefully, and her icy stare made him feel like cowering like a child.  
  
“If you did not care for him, personally, would you have even considered allowing he and his followers into the Alliance? Into Stormwind?”  
  
Anduin hadn’t really considered that, but, “no, no I wouldn’t have.”  
  
He would not lie to Jaina.  
  
Jaina unclasped her hands and leaned back in the chair. She stared out of the large window in Anduin’s chambers, but her face was soft. She didn’t look angry with him, or disappointed, even.  
  
A calm silence passed between them for some time. Anduin began fingering the frayed ends of his bed clothes, absently noting that they should be replaced at some point.  
  
“I pray that you do not make the same mistakes that I did,” Jaina said.  
  
Anduin looked up at her, and her eyes softened.  
  
“I learned the hard way, many times over, from those mistakes. It took me until now to fully understand the weight of my choices in those instances. Even then, I wonder, should those people return to me, would I give them another chance? Would I make those same mistakes?” Jaina seemed lost in thought after this, staring over Anduin’s shoulder at nothing in particular, “I wonder over that a good deal.”  
  
Anduin wanted to tell her that Wrathion was no Thrall, no Arthas, but he saw no need to dig up old wounds. He didn’t particularly care for what comparing Wrathion to Arthas or Thrall implied of their relationship, but again, there was no need to argue. Jaina was not criticizing him, only warning him of the dangers of trusting those that once hurt you. He understood her concern, but he was doing his best to keep his distance. Gone were the days of following him around like a lost puppy."  
  
“After he first betrayed me,” Anduin admitted, “I was very hurt. I had always been surrounded by stuffy nobles and books my entire life. I was sheltered, and I had no real friends my age. Yes, Wrathion is a dragon, but he was the closest to a true friendship I had. The first few days – months – I told myself I couldn't stomach to look at him should he return. That feeling only strengthened when my father died, yet when I was told he was near, that he had saved me, I went and sought him out. Yes, for intel and troops first and foremost, but-"

Anduin trailed off, he didn't need to finish that thought. He could tell by Jaina's expression that she understood all too well what he meant.  
  
Jaina eyes remained soft, “that’s often how it is with the people we care about. Hurt us all they might, and yet we’d gladly come crawling back.” Her face hardened again, nearly catching Anduin off guard, “which is why, Anduin, I am warning you to be careful. I know he was once a dear friend but he is a black dragon, the brood of Deathwing, you need to use caution at all times. Trust me, someone who has fallen into this trap time and again. I tell you this in confidence as family, not as a political ally.”  
  
“Thank you, Jaina,” Anduin said, “your personal council is always appreciated.”  
  
Jaina nodded her head, her expression becoming tender again as she rose from her chair. “I will leave you, you must rest.” Jaina turned and looked over her shoulder as she opened the door, flashing a toothy grin, “I will make a fuss tomorrow to keep your guards from disturbing you early in the morning. You need sleep after today's meeting.”  
  
Anduin smiled back, “thank you, Aunt Jaina.”


	3. Contrition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter chapter to wrap up the intro! I'm looking forward to bringing Taelia into the story. :)
> 
> Next chapter will also (quite likely) be from Wrathion's POV. I love Anduin, but Wrathion is much easier to write for. ;-;'

Anduin wasn’t surprised when he woke to Wrathion sitting in the reading chair beside his bed. Wrathion had spied on him for years without being found out, it wasn't a shock that he could get past his personal guard without detection. He was brazen, Anduin would give him that. 

Wrathion was perched precariously on the edge of the chair, his knees drawn under his chin as he read from a book. He held this book some distance away from his face – it was a very childlike pose.  
  
Anduin was prepared to scold him for entering his room without permission until he realized just what book was clasped in his fingers.  
  
“Tell me that isn’t one of my personal journals,” Anduin said, an edge of outrage clear in his voice.  
  
“Yes, specifically your journal from Pandaria,” Wrathion chirped.  
  
Anduin threw his covers aside fast enough that he sent them hurtling over the other side of the bed. He ripped the journal out of Wrathion’s hands, but he could tell by the impish grin on his face, and how easily he let the journal slip from his hands, that he had already read much of what Anduin hadn’t wanted him to.  
  
Wrathion inclined his head, staring up at Anduin with those unnatural, blazing eyes. He didn’t say anything, but the devilish grin he wore was more than enough to tell Anduin everything.  
  
“That was hidden and locked away,” Anduin said. “Don't dig through my personal effects anymore, it’s unrefined.”  
  
Wrathion laughed, a true belly laugh, “unrefined?”  
  
“Yes,” Anduin said.  
  
“I rather think the things I read in that book about me were unrefined,” Wrathion said. “It was all quite scandalous, at least by human standards,” Wrathion corrected.  
  
Anduin sighed, he had no card to play here. What was written in that journal were his own words, his own thoughts, and he couldn’t deny them.  
  
“I was young,” Anduin said, “15 at the time. You know what teen boys are like.”  
  
“I do not,” Wrathion smirked. "Dragon, remember?"  
  
“Well, they’re like this,” Anduin said, chancing a peek at the page Wrathion was reading. He suppressed a groan at the words he read on the first paragraph alone. He wasn't sure where he had learned such coarse language - perhaps from listening in on the royal guards' personal conversations.   
  
“Come now, it wasn’t that bad,” Wrathion said. “I quite liked what you wrote after we spent time in the Hot Springs at the tavern. Written like a true romance novel.”  
  
“Ok, stop,” Anduin said, frowning. He really had been a simple, normal teen despite the eloquence with which he spoke of goodwill and peace. He pressed his forefinger and thumb to the bridge of his nose and pinched.  
  
“How romantic, too, to compare my hair to the blackest silk in Stormwind and my skin to—”  
  
“Wrathion,” Anduin warned. “Please, the workings of my young brain are not something I want to be reminded of - at least not these thoughts. It’s terribly shameful.”  
  
“Yet you kept the journals,” Wrathion said, “why?”  
  
Anduin shrugged, “I keep all my journals, and I have some from as early as when I was able to write. It’s nostalgic, if a little sad.”  
  
Wrathion shook his head, “you humans.”  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Anduin asked.  
  
“You’re all so romantic, so attached to the old – you look at the world through rose-tinted glasses. It's strange.”  
  
“Not always,” Anduin said. “A lot of the times, there are lessons to be learned in my journals. When I look back, I am often reminded of my beliefs and values, and why I had them. When I am feeling particularly bitter toward the Horde, I look back into my oldest journals. My meeting as a child with Baine that largely shaped my views, my letters back and forth with Lor’themar that my father hadn't even known about, and even my first time meeting Vol'jin with my father.”  
  
“Lor’themar called for your death not even two months ago,” Wrathion said. “Baine sits demurely behind Sylvanas, and Vol’jin – arguably one of the only competent warchiefs – died to a stab wound and left Sylvanas in charge.”  
  
“Talk about seeing things in black and white,” Anduin said with a brow raise.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Baine sits behind Sylvanas because he wants to keep the Horde alive – should he leave, the Tauren will be defenseless. Lor’themar is much the same, he does so to appease Sylvanas, and also to ensure the safety of the Sin’dorei. I do not consider them bad for this, if anything, I can respect their loyalty despite the terror they are faced with. I didn't always like my father's decisions, sometimes I vehemently disagreed with him, and yet I never once thought about mutiny. I knew how important he was.”  
  
Wrathion smiled, “how very reminiscent of the way you spoke while in Pandaria. I had you pegged as a changed man, though it seems I was mistaken.”  
  
“My values haven’t changed much,” Anduin admitted. “I understand now that there is a heavy price to pay for peace, but I’ve never stopped wanting it.”

“A resilient _and_ benevolent king,” Wrathion said, “my, how lucky the Alliance is to have you.”  
  
“Condescend all you want,” Anduin said with a shrug, "it won't change how I feel."   
  
He opened the locked drawer that his journal had been in and realized each one of his journals had been skimmed through. He sighed.

As he rearranged the leather-bound journals, he wondered what Wrathion thought about what he had written of his betrayal in Pandaria. He had read through his lewd thoughts, but what about what came after? Did Wrathion feel guilt?  
  
He turned to look at him after he had locked the drawer and met eyes with him. Wrathion was still smiling his way, no sign of that surface cracking anytime soon.  
  
Anduin was feeling brazen. He turned back to his desk to reorder his quills that Wrathion had carelessly knocked over – probably purposely.  
  
“Did you read the entirety of the Pandaria journal?”  
  
“I did,” Wrathion said.  
  
“What did you think?”  
  
Wrathion sighed, “if you’re asking what I thought about the massive shift in tone after I set Garrosh free, I thought it was sad. I knew my betrayal would cause derision, but I didn’t think it would be so intense. You proved you certainly have a way with words, if anything, my King.”  
  
Anduin turned to look at him, expecting that familiar smile to be on his face. However, Wrathion’s face was serious. It wasn’t melancholy like he had seen at Blackrock Spire for that split second, but it certainly wasn’t a happy or prideful look.  
  
Wrathion put his feet flat on the floor, no longer in that childish pose. He rested his elbows on his knees and tapped his talons together, considering.  
  
“There were many things I didn’t know about you,” Wrathion said. “I pride myself on knowing everything, but despite your placid demeanor and the speed with which you grew closer to me, you were always a closed book. Garrosh Hellscream would have been an easier shell to crack, I believe.”  
  
“That is only natural when near a black dragon. The Alliance has been ravaged by them many times before. I was simply acting with caution when around you.”  
  
“Hm,” Wrathion mumbled, finally looking up at Anduin. “There was much more to it than just that. You weren’t just like that with me, but with everyone. Even now, I struggle to get a proper read on you. You're filled with surprises, Anduin. I will forever consider it both your greatest, and your worst, quality."  
  
Anduin did keep to himself, but he hadn't thought it was that noticeable of a trait. He wondered, absently, if others thought the same way as Wrathion did.   
  
Wrathion chuffed, stood, and held out a taloned hand to Anduin. “Come, show me around Stormwind.”  
  
“Wrathion,” Anduin warned.  
  
“I fully understand that you do not want to make the other leaders suspicious, but if we are out in the open it will be fine. Certainly, it’s only natural that you spend time with a new ally,” Wrathion said. “I will return to spying on Azshara and bringing back intel so your leaders don’t become skeptical. I know how they think – I will not overstay my welcome. Though I must admit, it would bring me great joy to see them anxiously biting their nails as I traipse around Stormwind City.”  
  
“I hope that one day you have proven yourself enough that both the leaders, and the people, think nothing of your presence," Anduin answered sincerely.  
  
Wrathion huffed, “like I said, a true romantic.”  
  
“Is there anything wrong with that?” Anduin asked.  
  
“Not at all,” Wrathion said. “I too would like the Black Dragonflight to thrive again, even be accepted as allies to the Alliance, but I believe that to be, as I’ve often heard the Draenei say, ‘reaching for the stars.’”  
  
“Funny, considering the Draenei have reached the stars, and then some,” Anduin said with a grin.  
  
Wrathion cocked his head, “I suppose you’re right.”

»»————- ————-««

  
  
The people of Stormwind didn’t know much about the vaunted black dragon that freed Garrosh Hellscream. He was easy enough to hide from them.

Anduin forced Wrathion to hide his horns – and he did so grudgingly – as well as his eyes. Anduin watched as they seemed to simmer into a striking copper. Like that, it was nearly impossible to tell if he was anything but another human. He still, however, had spared no expenses making his appearance stately. He was handsome, and his umber skin and dark hair made him stand out like a beacon next to Anduin’s fair skin and wheat-blonde hair.

Wrathion had gone out of his way to make himself just slightly taller than Anduin, but Anduin made no mention of it to the dragon, lest he hurt his pride.  
  
They certainly painted an interesting picture. The regular citizens of Stormwind turned and watched, some even openly gawking, but not because they feared Wrathion. All they knew was that Anduin was walking around with a handsome stranger who had a personal guard. This told them that he was both a handsome and powerful stranger - someone to be respected.  
  
It was clear that Wrathion was used to controversy, to heckling. He seemed caught off guard by the smiles and waves from the people of Stormwind. He looked tense, even, and his eyes would occasionally shift as if looking around for a possible threat.  
  
That was when Anduin spotted her.  
  
Anduin could see her watching from a distance, shy and hiding behind her mother’s skirts. She had a deep red flush on her freckled cheeks, and in one doughy hand, she clasped a scarlet rose.  
  
Anduin had seen the little girl before, running around the streets of Stormwind and playing where he mother sold flowers and herbs. He often bought their flowers to place on both his mother and father's graves.  
  
She was watching Wrathion closely, though it seemed Wrathion hadn’t noticed. He was too intent on listening to Anduin describe the many attacks that have happened from the canals. He was observant, but he only really watched for threats. A small, freckled girl, too shy to even look past her mother was no threat to him.  
  
He listened as Wrathion began to murmur something or other about how to properly fortify a city on the sea. However, as they got closer, Anduin smiled at the small girl, catching her eyes and making her momentarily cower even further behind her mother. He chuckled, which caught Wrathion’s attention mid-rant.

Anduin held his arm out to stop Wrathion,  
  
The young girl’s mother urged her forward and she shyly plodded toward them with the rose held behind her back.  
  
Wrathion watched curiously as she approached, looking at Anduin in silent query. The look in his eyes reminded Anduin of an animal, not a wild one, but one that didn’t quite understand what it was seeing. Like a domestic dog meeting a cat for the first time. 

The young girl met his eyes timidly and thrust the rose toward him. He startled slightly at her quick movements, ever more reminding Anduin of a curious dog than a crude drake.  
  
“Kneel,” Anduin said quietly, low enough that the girl couldn't hear.  
  
Wrathion caught on quickly and kneeled down in front of the small, timid girl. He accepted the gift gracefully, murmured something or other about her being a beautiful young woman, and then likened her to the rose. Anduin watched as her face cycled through five different shades of red. Anduin smiled, remembering how many times Wrathion had used those same compliments on him - and garnered the same reaction.

She curtseyed shortly after and ran back to her mother to hide behind the safety of her robes, still watching the two of them as they continued their walk toward Stormwind Harbour.  
  
When they passed the second arch, Anduin resumed his earlier thread of thought. When he finished, he looked to Wrathion for an answer and instead of listening intently as he had been, Anduin saw Wrathion rolling the stem of the rose between his fingers, watching the petals flare absently. He appeared lost in thought. It was rare to catch the dragon unguarded.  
  
“Not familiar with receiving gifts?” Anduin asked.  
  
“No,” Wrathion said slowly, still eyeing the red petals. “I just thought it was nostalgic, and though you probably don’t remember it, my first and last gift was from you.”  
  
Anduin was taken aback, “I do not remember this.” He remembered everything from Pandaria with almost painful accuracy, he thought he would have remembered such a grand gesture.  
  
“Well, I doubt you intended it as a gift, but I had still accepted it as one,” Wrathion said. “It was a marsh lily you had found while carelessly traipsing around in the forest near the Vale of Eternal Blossoms. I remember, even with your healing bones, you left under the nose of the royal guard your father had sent with nothing but your crutches and your clothes. I offered to help you, but you answered me without a word and a rude gesture "

Anduin remembered that, and he thought it funny that Wrathion remembered such a small thing. He inwardly cringed, however, at the memory of the way he had acted out in the tavern. All that eloquence and he still had terrible habits. 

Wrathion clicked his tongue, "your Stormwind royal guard are brazen, I’ll give them that; haranguing a back dragon for hours and hours takes a good deal of daring. You came back that night limping and covered in filth. They didn’t even apologize for accusing me of kidnapping you,” Wrathion scoffed.  
  
Anduin snickered, though he also felt a good deal of shame. “I wasn’t fully aware of just how heavily the guard was scolded when I slipped away from them. I imagine they’d have been hanged if I had been kidnapped by a black dragon for the second time in my life.”  
  
“I suppose,” Wrathion said. He looked lost in thought again. The way he was acting was something Anduin hadn’t seen until recently. It was clear now that he had matured a great deal over the 6 years they had been separated.  
  
“So, what did you do with it? The marsh lily.”  
  
Wrathion smiled and tilted his head to look at Anduin, “one day I will show you. Unfortunately, we don’t have the time.”  
  
Anduin sighed. Wrathion would be cryptic about the most insignificant things. What could he have possibly done with one marsh lily?  
  
When they reached the last arch before the harbour, Wrathion looked to Lion's Rest.   
  
Anduin half expected Wrathion to make a rude comment about his father, but he didn't. He was quiet for a moment as they approached, never taking his eyes off of the monument left behind. Anduin wondered if Wrathion remembered that this place was once razed by Deathwing, and what Wrathion thought of the placement of this monument.    
  
"Your father was well liked by his people, I'll give him that," Wrathion said thoughtfully.   
  
Anduin nodded in agreement.  
  
That was all Wrathion had to say on the matter. He looked away after that and instead stared headlong at the harbour. To Anduin, it looked as though Wrathion was actively avoiding looking at it - looking at what he had caused.   
  
He made no mention of it. It was not the time or place to be causing an argument, they were already drawing enough attention as it stood.   
  
When they reached the harbour, Wrathion turned to Anduin. “I should be leaving shortly. There has been a spike in Naga activity again in Stormsong that I would like to keep track of with my own eyes. Kul’Tiras appears to be a high-risk area. You can't risk losing their fleet - not now.”  
  
“Very well,” Anduin said. “Will you be leaving some of your guard?”  
  
“Yes,” Wrathion said, “though I must say they don’t fit in well with your royal guard, or even your SI:7. My agents are polite, but their armour is-”  
  
“Dark,” Anduin offered.  
  
“Yes,” Wrathion smiled. “Should you find the time, maybe fitting them with armour becoming of a member of the Alliance guard would fare better with your people."  
  
Anduin nodded, “I had every intention of doing that whether you wanted it or not.”  
  
“Of course,” Wrathion said. “I’ve also left Right with you in my absence as I can communicate directly with her."  
  
"Thank you," Anduin said with a nod. "She'll be treated well."   
  
Wrathion’s guards approached from behind, letting him know that it was time to leave.  
  
Wrathion bowed to Anduin before he turned, surprising him once more when he lifted his hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the back of it.  
  
“Until we meet again, my King,” Wrathion said with a short bow.  
  
Anduin could only nod, "light be with you." 


	4. Premonition

The Naga forces in Stormsong acted much the same as they had in Azsuna. They wandered aimlessly around Fort Daelin, all wearing the same indifferent expressions. They would attack the Kul'Tiran guards should they be approached, but they never actively advanced like the first time they had attacked.

This behaviour, to Wrathion, was far more alarming than if they had been actively attacking the fort. The fort itself wasn't guarded heavily - as far as the Naga knew - and they had much to gain if they pushed forward onto land and into the valley. He knew they had the power to do it if they so chose. That much was obvious by how Azshara had whipped Anduin around like a rag doll, and held both Jaina and Genn at bay without effort.

The water itself was a slave to Azshara - so why didn't she conquer this seabound tract of land? After what he had seen, he was certain Azshara could have all of Kul'Tiras in a matter of days.

Wrathion, for all he liked to posture, hadn't the slightest clue what she was planning now. He knew the end goal, but he didn't know how she planned on reaching it. 

He made rounds every hour on the hour, being sure to keep himself high above and shrouded from Azshara's forces. His own guards observed from the ground, being met with the same monotonous back and forth of the Naga. They did nothing. 

There was one thing he did notice, however. The Naga idled, yes, but they never looked restless. They were there for a reason.

At the end of the month, Wrathion himself grew bored, dawdling around in the sky and drawing aimless patterns in the clouds. As he absently wondered what the Alliance were thinking of his long absence - longer than he had anticipated - something strange happened. From beneath the arching, blue waves, a sound shook the earth. A deep, guttural sound, much like the groan of a large kodo.

It was a trumpet from beneath the waves.

Wrathion watched, transfixed, as the Naga all turned obediently, falling into line like dominoes. They didn't communicate, or even look at one another, but instead began ambling back into the ocean from where they had come in perfect lines.

Why?

Wrathion, in his intense curiosity, flew in close in the hopes that he could see something - hear something that he couldn't from way up in the sky.

His shroud wasn't quite as strong as he had thought.

A Naga warrior turned with blinding speed, his eyes fixed as if he had known Wrathion was there the whole time, and threw his trident with near-fatal accuracy. It struck Wrathion beneath the crook of his front arm and chest - only narrowly missing his heart.

He hissed and turned tail despite wanting desperately to follow.   
  
He knew what his limits were.

What he did note, on his way back, was that the warrior didn't make any effort to follow after him even though he had struck a crippling blow. Whatever they were being called back for, it was serious enough to make the warrior turn his back on a black dragon.

He communicated with Left, urging her and his men to capture at least one Naga at the back of their organized line. Though he knew Naga were fiercely loyal and he was likely to get no answer at all, he needed something to bring back to Anduin and the Alliance leaders.

Wrathion's injuries were bad - he knew that when he landed, it would be violent. At the base camp, he could see Anduin's guards milling around, talking with his agents in hurried shouts about the Naga receding. They were working well together.

He didn't want to look weak, the leader of the Blacktalon, when relations were moving along so smoothly. So, instead, he flew off toward Millstone Hamlet where he knew the long stretches of rocky shore would offer him privacy to tend his own wounds.

His vision was beginning to waver when he reached the shore. He wanted to go down easily, but when he tried, the lowering of his wings caused the trident in his flesh to dig deeper. Wrathion, instead, came down in a flurry of wings. He rolled onto his back so as to not push the trident deeper, and when he hit the ground, rocks, mud, and water spewed up around him in a massive plume.

He hoped he was far enough away that no one at Millstone Hamlet had heard it - or seen it.

He laid on the ground for some time, too weak and injured to shift into his easier-to-manage human form. His wings were spread about him, and his back ached from the position he was trapped in. Dragons were not meant to lie on their backs.

He chanced a glance down at the trident wedged into his flesh, hissing as the movement once again shifted the trident deeper into his skin.

One of Anduin's healers could easily have managed the wound, but Wrathion's pride had carried him to an abandoned shore instead.

A bad choice, in hindsight.

Wrathion lay there for some time, wondering what he would do about the injury. He could call Left for help, but she would surely bring one of the healers with her even if he were to tell her not to. He didn't have want or need to look like an injured dog that crawled away to hide.

"That certainly doesn't look good."

Wrathion didn't need to look up to see whose voice that belonged to - partially because he had heard the voice in question before, and partially because the owner of it stood directly over his head. She looked down into his eyes, brazen, as if being in the presence of a black dragon wasn't frightening.

Taelia Fordragon.

Did she even know about him? Most people thought all the black dragons had died off, and he doubted Anduin would have sent such controversial news when their alliance had just been freshly forged. News of a black dragon among their ranks wouldn't go over very well, he was certain.

Wrathion chose not to answer her, curious to see what Taelia would do with that.

She continued to look down at him, and after a long minute of no answer, she sighed and walked over to his injured side. She examined the wound quietly, her thumb and forefinger pressed to her chin.

"I don't know much about dragon anatomy," she admitted, almost sheepishly as if it were something she _should_ know. "I do know about gryphons, though," and she quickly reached a calloused hand out to the silver base of the weapon.

Wrathion, despite the pain it caused, pulled a wing in to cover it, out of reflex and out of annoyance at her brass to act without his consent.

She sighed again, this time rolling her eyes for dramatic effect.

What a strange woman this Taelia was - Wrathion couldn't understand what Anduin enjoyed about her company. She was crude, loud, and lacked any kind of elegance - she was the polar opposite of what Anduin was.

"I know you can speak, all dragons can," Taelia said with her hands on her hips.

"Well educated, are we?" Wrathion said coolly.

Taelia, surprising Wrathion, laughed at his insult. "I've heard and read a lot about you black dragons - rude things."

Wrathion felt offended at the ignorance of the statement, "rude things? We are much more than rude. We were conquerors - warders of the earth."

"Yes," Taelia said with a shrug, "but you're still known for being rude."

"Miss Fordragon, I could rend you down right here if I so chose. Your audacity in the face of a black dragon is, truthfully, baffling."

"You know my name?" She asked, lifting a brow. She didn't look shaken - more curious - like the threat Wrathion had imparted hadn't concerned her.

It was clear now that Anduin really hadn't told her anything about forging an alliance with him. Anduin hadn't told her anything, and here she stood, poking fun at a black dragon, of all things. Kul'Tirans knew well of the ravages of Deathwing and the supposed destruction of the black dragonflight. Why was this vulgar woman not bothered?

"Yes," he answered. "I know everyone's name."

She considered this for a minute, then her eyes lit up. "Oh, this is fantastic."

Wrathion would have tilted his head in question if not for the growing pain in his body.

"You're that dragon that Anduin told me about, aren't you? That cocky dragon from Pandaria that wanted to conquer the world - It has to be you!"

"Conquer the world," Wrathion sighed, "is that really how Anduin described me? It was much more than that, I assure you. My goal was to unite-"

"Yes, yes," she waved him off. "Now, let's get to your wounds before all that. Oh, I'd love to hear all about how Anduin was as a child."   
  
She stopped, "that's it, that's how you'll repay me!"

Wrathion would have been chuffed at the careless way in which she quieted him, but he desperately wanted to be free of the trident that was making pain radiate up his side. He was thankful it hadn't been laced with some kind of poison, which wasn't an uncommon thing for the Naga to do.

Taelia reached for the trident once again, confident as ever. Wrathion was surprised by her firm grip, but unfortunately, the trident was very much wedged into his thick scales. She pulled with all her might, but her feet were slipping in the sand and his scales provided too much resistance.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly as she pressed one muddy boot to his black scales to get a better hold of the trident.

That seemed to do the trick, and when the trident was released Taelia was sent hurtling back onto the rocky shore. She stood up quickly and gave herself a cursory brushing off, paying no real attention to the mud and rocks that clung to her dingy armour.

Wrathion ignored her as she walked back up to him. He flexed his wing to gauge the pain. It was certainly better without the trident, but it needed proper attention. He would need an actual healer to look after him.

He got back to his feet and shook the sand from his scales, testing his wings once more before levelling Taelia with a stare.

"No 'thank you'?" Taelia smirked.

Wrathion wanted to roll his eyes, but he ducked his head in a short bow to her. "Thank you, Taelia Fordragon."

Taelia clapped her hands together. "Right," she said, "now, where exactly did you come from and why?"

Wrathion didn't quite yet want to shift back into his human form, though it would make talking much easier. He knew the wound would look horrendous in it, and he didn't want Taelia to try her hand at healing, and he knew she would try. Wrathion opened his mouth to speak again, but Taelia was already rolling through another set of questions.

"Wait, does Anduin know you're here? Does he even know you're alive?" Taelia shook her head, "oh, mister, I'm sure you're in for a world of hurt when he finds you. He had some choice words to say about what you did."

When she finished, Wrathion stared at her with a blank expression, hoping that that was the end of her slew of questions. When he was certain she had nothing else to say, he told her everything he could in as few words as possible. 

"I am the dragon that saved Anduin from Azshara when the both of you were attacked-"

"I knew it was you," Taelia chimed in.

"-I kept him hidden from her until she gave up, and then his Alliance mutt found us. They took him back to Stormwind, and I carelessly returned to Blackrock Mountain so the pitiful excuse for rogues he sent after me would know where I was. I knew that if Anduin heard I was around, he would come and find me. It was a much safer option than me flying to Stormwind to meet him. I also wasn't entirely sure how our reunion would go, and the idea of spending my life in the stockades was not a nice one."

"You are lucky he didn't put you there. He was furious," Taelia said. "Anytime he would bring you up, I could see the anger rising off of him. He spoke about the Horde with less disdain."

"Yes," Wrathion said, "I'm well aware."

"Is he scary when he's really pissed off?" Taelia asked. "I hope to never be on the other end of his anger."

Wrathion scoffed, "he's no more frightening than a Stormwind kitten."

Taelia laughed hard at this, "you're a terrible liar."

Wrathion finally did roll his eyes at her.

"Well, go on," Taelia said. "I want all the juicy details."

Wrathion wanted to deny her, to take wing and leave to lick his wounds, but he owed her. This was how she wanted her debt repaid, and for all his faults, Wrathion always paid his debts.

Wrathion clicked his tongue, "he came to Blackrock Mountain like I had hoped, he saw me, he aired his grievances and we talked through much of the night. I offered him my allegiance and the use of my Blacktalon agents, and from then on our alliance was sealed."

Taelia looked taken aback, "so you took advantage of him."

Wrathion cocked his head quizzically.

"You knew the Alliance were hard up for soldiers, and you conveniently appear with your SI:7 ripoffs right when he needs help most?"

"My soldiers are some of the best," Wrathion said, bristling. "My Blacktalon are far superior to his SI:7, and I have massive amounts of intel to offer. I simply waited for the right moment to let Anduin know. Besides, it sounds to me like you're underestimating Anduin's intelligence - just like every other Alliance member."

Taelia whistled, ignoring the insult that followed Wrathion's bragging, "for all that talk, I hope you've really got a lot to offer."

Wrathion snorted, "just this past month we've been observing the Naga on the shores of Stormsong."

"I kind of figured, what with the trident sticking out of you," Taelia said with a raise of one brow. "Looks like it was going well for you."

The sarcasm wasn't lost on Wrathion, but he ignored it in favour of his growing curiosity. There was, perhaps, more to Taelia than he had thought. She was like Anduin, in some ways.

"The Alliance needed our help, and I was more than happy to offer it. I want to see Azshara defeated, and then the Horde soon after. I offered them my troops to help safeguard the future. This allegiance is just as much for me as it is for the Alliance and the whole of Azeroth. I could just have easily given my soldiers over the Horde."

Taelia observed him for a long moment, absently kicking at shells and rocks beneath her feet. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, "will you betray him again?"

Wrathion did tilt his head this time, "of course not, and if I had plans to, do you think I'd tell you?"

"What if an opportunity comes up, like, someone offers you boundless power so long as you betray the Alliance..."

"Oh, nonsense," Wrathion said with a twitch of his uninjured wing. "Not only will that opportunity never arise, but I wouldn't take it. I've learned my lesson - I'll be making up for my mistakes for the rest of my life - for the rest of Anduin's."

Taelia regarded Wrathion with a long look after this. Taelia had an incredibly expressive face from what he'd seen from his time spying on Anduin, and rarely did she ever look serious. Now, as she stared him down, she looked stern. When she seemed satisfied, she lowered her shoulders and her regular crooked smile returned.

"Well then, it looks like the Naga aren't going to be coming back anytime soon," Taelia said. "You should return to Anduin; I want to come along. I need to hear some more stories - some happier ones, this time."

Wrathion didn't protest - though he wanted to put off returning as much as possible, he would have to face the music eventually. Perhaps Taelia would make the return home a little less tense.

He only hoped the wound he'd sustained wouldn't get any worse.

»»————- ————-««

The wound got worse.

Perhaps he had been a little cocky in thinking that it would heal on its own. It wasn't poisoned, but it was becoming infected. Infections, which dragons, were unfortunately not immune to.

Wrathion's pride had kept him from going to a healer immediately, and now his pride was keeping him from seeking one out several weeks later now that the wound had festered. They would know he had let it sit out of his own defiance and pride.

Wrathion groaned and rolled over on his cot. Dragon's didn't need as much sleep as humans - could even go days without - but the severity of his wound was causing a deep exhaustion to plague him.

As he stared out of the one window in his room, his ears began to ring. As a human, this could be due to nothing but pressure - a simple headache from staring at a book too long - but Dragon's didn't get headaches. Their bodies didn't react to pressure the way humans' did.

He thought it might have something to do with his wound, but the pain was localized. It didn't travel up and pulse from the wound, it was all in his head.  
  
He'd felt this before. 

Wrathion pinched the bridge of his nose and let out an annoyed huff.

He longed to relax in his drake form - much easier to maintain - but the ship couldn't accommodate his size.

Wrathion could feel his eyes slipping closed - sleep threatening to take him over once more despite his internal protest - when he heard a voice as clear as day at his bedside.

"I can take care of this for you."

Wrathion shot up from the cot, leaning away from the voice that had sounded as if it were coming from right beside him. It had been Anduin's voice.

Wrathion sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair, letting out a deep breath of hot air. Just as he had begun to settle again, Left firmly rapped at the door to his chambers.

He tried to speak, but when he stood he found he couldn't find his voice immediately. Nothing but a squeak escaped him. He paused, cleared his throat, and tried again with better results. His voice sounded distant to him - not quite right - but it was there.

Left entered and stood before him, and if she had heard anything off about his voice, her face wasn't giving anything away.

"We are a days journey out of Stormwind," Left said.

Wrathion raised a neat brow. He hadn't realized they were that close, but he hadn't a clue why Left had entered his room to inform him of this.

"If you fly, you can get there by night."

Wrathion tutted, "Left, you've never once been cryptic with me, why now?"

Left grunted in annoyance, "Sire, I know you've been hiding a wound. I know you do not trust any of the Alliance healers, so if you get to Stormwind during the night, the King can heal you without anyone being made aware."

Ah. He thought he had been better at hiding the damage he had sustained, but Left was as perceptive as ever. He truly had made a wonderful pick in his personal guard. There was not an ounce of judgment in Left's face or voice, just the dry concern of a loyal orc.

Truthfully, he didn't want Anduin to know about the wound he'd received at the hands of the Naga, but it was better than the whole of the Alliance. He knew Anduin wouldn't share what happened with anyone.

"Alright," Wrathion said after a moment of consideration. "I'll leave now, then. Tell the others that I wanted to get ahead to sort out some affairs."

Left nodded and quietly left his room.

»»————- ————-««

“Is there any sign of where they might have gone?” Anduin asked. Right stood before him, as quiet as ever, but perhaps one of the most intent listeners in the room.

She shook her head, "no, Your Majesty, we've captured one of the Naga, but he offers no answers."   
  
The Naga forces had, for reasons unknown, decided to pull out of the coast of Stormsong entirely. They had been stagnating at the shore for over a month and had left with little explanation.   
  
It made Anduin uneasy, as it did the rest of the Alliance forces. This was not a surrender.  
  
“And where had the dragon been during all of this?” Genn asked.

"He was scanning the shore with both the Stormwind and Blacktalon forces. They tried, but whatever the Naga are doing, they are hiding it well. The Naga have also pulled back from several other locations across the sea. Not a trace of them remains."

"So he returns with nothing?"  
  
“He is on his way back to Stormwind to debrief with King Wrynn,” Right answered, ignoring Genn's slight to her master.   
  
“He debriefs with all of us,” Genn corrected venomously.   
  
“Of course,” Right conceded with the nod of her head. “He should be returning in a few nights. They left for Stormwind the night the Naga receded.”   
  
Anduin didn’t appreciate the way Genn spoke with Anduin’s personal guard. Right was as well-mannered as they came, a shock considering who her master was. There was no arrogance in her tone or on her face like there was with Wrathion.

He made a note to mention it to him when things calmed down. Though he was certain it wouldn't make much of an impact on his actions.   
  
“Our plan was to attack Azshara first, my King, but what do we do now that she’s nowhere to be found? We can’t launch an assault on nothing. Certainly, our forces remain intact, but we waste time just waiting.”   
  
“We must wait for Wrathion’s return to decide where to go from here,” Anduin said. “I have hopes that he’ll return with some tell or idea of where she might have gone. She and her forces couldn’t just vanish – they’re planning something. It's alarming that she's gone so quiet after everything that's happened.”  
  
“Understood,” Genn said, “but think, while Azshara is gone we have time to attack the Horde. Due to the issues arising in Zuldazar, and Saurfang's separation, there are many Horde forces gone from Orgrimmar.”   
  
“It wouldn’t be that simple,” Anduin said. “If anything, Azshara is pulling back to wait for us to attack the Horde. We’d thin our ranks if we jumped into this too soon."  
  
“We can’t wait for the Horde to attack us, either,” Genn said. "They must notice that we've gone quiet. We need to take advantage of the corruption in the Horde."   
  
“This is a difficult situation and I understand the urgency to be done with our enemies,” Anduin said, “but we can’t get too far ahead of ourselves. Wait for Wrathion – when he returns, we will sit in one final time and figure out our plan from there. Snap decisions will only cripple us.”   
  
Those in the room with them nodded their heads in agreement, though he could see the hesitation on some. Many wanted to attack the Horde and be done with it, but dismantling the Horde effectively, and without causing too many unnecessary casualties, would be a long and grueling process. Saurfang's separation from the Horde had only complicated matters, and would only add time to the process. It was time that they didn’t have. He knew some of the others would agree to just destroy them and kill all those who stood in the way, but Anduin didn’t believe that was the right thing to do.

He was the one who had urged Saurfang to stand against Sylvanas, after all. Though the others didn't know this, he couldn't - wouldn't - go against his word to Saurfang.

After all had left, Right stood alone with Anduin in the keep.

Anduin rested his hands firmly on the table, his head hung. He looked up at her after a long moment of staring into the wide expanse of the Azerothian map before him.

"What would you do in this situation, Right?"

Right was quiet for a moment, chewing her bottom lip in thought. "I truly do not know, and I am no leader" she answered. "I am grateful that it is not I that makes the final decision."

Anduin chuckled, his voice sour, "I truly wish I could say the same."

»»————- ————-««

  
  
Anduin slept fitfully that night, and he had no doubt there would be many more like that to come. He worried about what the right thing to do really was. No matter who they attacked first, they were leaving themselves vulnerable to someone.   
  
He absently wondered if the Horde were facing the same dilemma.

He lay on his bed, staring up at the stone ceiling and twiddling his thumbs. His eyes began to drift closed, sleep nearly finding him for the second time that night, when a loud crack racketed through Anduin's bedchambers.

He had expected Wrathion to see him privately on his return, but he hadn't expected him to come barrelling into his room through the keep window like a lost bird in the middle of the night.

He feigned having landed gracefully when Anduin lit the lamp beside his bed and lifted it. Wrathion was standing, his hands held behind his back, looking as calm as ever despite the mess behind him.   
  
“Your keep window is too small for my drake form,” Wrathion supplied when he saw Anduin eyeing the broken table and scattered documents behind him. “I had to shift as I was coming in.”   
  
Anduin wished he had seen that.   
  
“Why didn’t you just come through the keep normally? The guards are well aware of you now.”   
  
“It’s well past midnight,” Wrathion said. “It would hardly look proper if I were demanding to see the King in his bedchambers so late. Not only would the guards worry, but your watchdog, as well.”   
  
“Wrathion,” Anduin said. “Why _are_ you in my room so late? This couldn't wait for morning?”   
  
“I simply wanted to see you as soon as I arrived,” Wrathion said, though the sarcasm was not lost on Anduin even in his sleepy state.   
  
“Be honest, Wrathion – what happened in Stormsong?”   
  
“I know little more than I'm sure you do,” Wrathion said. His expression told Anduin that he wasn’t lying to him – he looked concerned. “We weren’t spotted until the very end, though that didn't do much for us. It was jarring how quiet it became after they suddenly fled. We searched the seas far and wide before pulling back, and we found nothing at all, not even a trace of them having been near.”   
  
“It is troubling news,” Anduin said.   
  
“That said,” Wrathion added, “I wanted to speak to you alone about this, first.”   
  
“About what?” Anduin asked.   
  
“I know many of the others will opt to attack the Horde after Azshara’s pulled away, but I feel this is even more reason to not attack them,” Wrathion said. “I know I pushed to attack the Horde first, but her and her forces disappearance is concerning. Never once since their conception have the Naga been so quiet.”   
  
“I’m shocked that I agree with you,” Anduin said.   
  
“I was fully prepared to continue nagging at you in private to attack the Horde...”   
  
“I’ve read your letters – I’m aware,” Anduin rolled his eyes.   
  
“—but now, more than ever, we need to focus on hunting down Azshara and ending her. Now.”

Wrathion was truly worried, and in turn, it worried Anduin. Even with the looming threat of the Legion, Wrathion never grew upset like this.   
  
Anduin increased the lighting in the lamp beside him. Wrathion stood, and though it was his normal posture, Anduin could see the uncomfortable tension in his body.   
  
“Why are you so worried? I agree her sudden pulling away is alarming, but you’re acting strangely.”   
  
Wrathion shifted to his other foot, and now Anduin was becoming concerned.   
  
“Wrathion, tell me. You can tell me.”

"I've unfortunately sustained a rather nasty wound."   
  
Anduin didn’t miss the strain in his voice now. Anduin lifted the lamp higher. It was then that he realized Wrathion was far more injured than he was letting on; his side was weeping blood. It was obvious he had put a great deal of strain on it by flying to his keep.   
  
“Wrathion,” Anduin said as he threw his covers aside, “you didn’t think to tell me about this wound before you started talking?”   
  
“Talking is more important, at the moment,” Wrathion said with a careless wave of his hand. 

“Shift back,” Anduin urged – demanded.   
  
“My form is bigger now, I might collapse some of your furniture.”   
  
Anduin highly doubted he had grown that much – he wasn’t yet a fully grown dragon. Regardless, perhaps stroking his ego a little, he pushed aside his sitting room chairs and table to make room.   
  
Wrathion shifted. He came dangerously close to crushing Anduin's bed.   
  
“Huh,” was all Anduin could muster.   
  
“That’s all?” Wrathion asked, turning his head toward Anduin.   
  
It was strange, having Wrathion speak to him in this form. Even in Pandaria, Wrathion often shifted back when he spoke with Anduin, opting to only use his whelpling form when he wanted to get somewhere quickly.

Anduin had also yet to see Wrathion's drake form.   
  
Anduin admired the long stretch of pearly white fangs that spanned his snout. His scales, especially, shined like an oil slick under the paltry moonlight that peaked through the keep windows.

He decided then that he would like to see his drake form in daylight, if the chance were to come up.

Wrathion's horns, however, were the most interesting part of his drake form. Exactly like on his human form – but larger – his horns stretched back, still whittled into sharp edges and embellished with gold filligree. It seemed that the gold was a permanent change Wrathion had made, and not just for his human form. They were nicer than even the life-binder's great horns.   
  
Wrathion nudged Anduin’s chest with his snout. He hadn’t even noticed, but he had drifted off into his own thoughts while taking in Wrathion's drake form.

Wrathion kept his head lowered, however, as if knowing what Anduin wanted.   
  
Anduin reached his hand out, hesitantly, and ran them over Wrathion’s snout. The scales were hard but even; it was like running your hands over a pane of stained glass. He ran his hands up, over the ridges on his forehead and then eventually to those thick, obsidian horns. Anduin gave the base of them a light squeeze to see if they felt any different from an Elekk tusk, and he noted that Wrathion shifted uncomfortably when he did it. He squeezed again.   
  
“Anduin,” Wrathion warned, “stop. You're lucky I'm even allowing you to touch me.”   
  
Anduin complied, but he smirked to himself all the while as he traced his fingertips over one of his sharpened horns. They felt exactly like the ivory of Elekk tusks like he had thought they would, yet somehow far more luxurious.   
  
He traced them a few times before realizing why it was that he got Wrathion to shift in the first place.   
  
He checked Wrathion’s haunches, and sure enough, a large wound marred the left side of his body.   
  
“Were you hit while you were a drake?”   
  
“Yes,” Wrathion said. “A rather nasty naga warrior threw a spear at me when I came in a little too close.”   
  
Anduin stopped, “you were wounded in Stormsong?”   
  
“Yes,” Wrathion said.   
  
“You’ve let this fester for a month?” Anduin felt the frustration rising in his voice.   
  
“Like I said, I thought it would heal faster.”   
  
“Wrathion, you need to dress open wounds like this. They don’t just heal on their own.”   
  
“I’m a dragon...”   
  
“Yes, so you’ve said,” Anduin snapped. “You’re not immortal, you need to be taken care of every now and again. Wasn’t it you who gave me this same speech about seeing my healers for my leg?”   
  
Wrathion shook his head, as if itchy, then snorted. “Yes, but that’s different. Humans have fragile bodies.”   
  
“A wound is a wound,” Anduin said. He let it go, it was impossible to reason with Wrathion when he had his mind set on something. Clearly, it had been set for the entire month.   
  
He closed his eyes as he ran his hands over the wounded area, not relenting even when Wrathion flinched away. Wrathion knew he was conjuring the light, so he remained quiet as Anduin worked.   
  
Anduin knew Wrathion didn’t see any of his healers because he had too much pride to admit defeat – even if it was a simple enough wound to heal. He wouldn't bring it up, but it bothered him a great deal that Wrathion didn't trust his personally appointed healers.  
  
When he could feel the light warming his fingertips, he could, in turn, feel Wrathion’s body relaxing along with it. He let out a huff, similar to a sigh, as the wound closed up. His body had been holding a great deal of tension.    
  
Anduin was so focussed on being sure that the wound was healed to the last vein, in fact, that he hadn’t noticed the soft rumble in Wrathion’s chest.

He had fallen asleep.

Anduin sighed and leaned in close. He spoke into Wrathion's ear canal to wake him, but Wrathion was dead to the world. His eyes remained shut, and his chest heaved with each deep breath. Anduin took a step back and gazed at the black dragon that slept on his floor like an oversized dog, then back to his keep window. He walked up to it, leaning his elbows on the sill and staring out into the harbour.

The boat he had sent his soldiers on hadn't returned yet. Anduin realized Wrathion must have flown ahead of them - wounded the way he was - only to have him personally heal him.   
  
The others would arrive by morning.   
  
After some time, and with a little annoyance plaguing him, he ambled back to his bed and fell asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it took me a long time to get this out, but the holidays were crazy busy - and stressful - for me! I'll have more time on my hands from here on out! :)


	5. Atonement

Wrathion woke swathed in cold, humid air. Dawn hadn't broken yet and a dull, orange light painted craggy streaks along the stone floor beneath him.

He was in Stormwind.

He knew this as he not only tasted, but smelled, the sharp tang of salt in the air that bracketed every oceanside city. He would have believed himself to still be on the boat, however, if not for the warm, earthy smell that Anduin permeated only a few feet away.

He need not look to know Anduin was near.

No human smelled the same - this was something Wrathion had come to learn within moments of his hatching - and dragons, unfortunately, had fantastic olfactory sensors. Some humans, particularly the ones in Ravenholdt Manor, stunk. They stunk of sweat, waste, and whatever else they had gotten into throughout the day. It was never good. As he grew and explored Azeroth, however, he realized humans weren't always repellent. Some were tolerable, at best, and the rare few smelled good.

Good by a dragon's standards, at least.

Anduin was one of the rare few humans he'd encountered that smelled genuinely good.

In the tavern, as Wrathion sifted through boring letter upon boring letter, there entered damaged, flaxen-haired Anduin and his royal guard. Wrathion could tell, even through the heady scent of iron from Anduin's wounds - and the pungent salt of shed, and yet unshed, tears - that he smelled good. The only way Wrathion could describe the scent was what the earth and air smelled like following a raging storm. The smell of the air crackling with electricity, and the ground, burnt beneath waves of lightning.

Such a powerful scent on such a slight, gentle boy had taken Wrathion aback. As he grew to know Anduin, however, he realized the scent fit in a way no other could.

Now that he was older, Anduin's scent hadn't changed much. He had a muskier bouquet, certainly, and the salt of Stormwind had stained him, but Wrathion could easily tell him apart from other humans.

Wrathion shifted back into his human form, and after some quiet contemplation he stretched wide and let out a great yawn.

Anduin shifted restlessly in his bed.

Wrathion watched as the young king laid a pallid arm over his forehead. He walked up to Anduin's bedside, cautiously so as not to wake the exhausted king, and stood over him. He supposed his actions would be considered 'creepy' - a word used by Anduin himself at the tavern - but he didn't see the issue with watching someone sleep - particularly a human.

Human lives were fleeting, and Anduin was beautiful and in the peak of his human years, so of course, a dragon - one of Azeroth's most vain creatures - would want to look. Truly beautiful humans were few and far between, after all.

Wrathion reached out one taloned hand and gently ran his fingers through Anduin's golden hair. The hair was thick, yet kitten-soft, and took to the light brilliantly. Even in Pandaria, Wrathion was often drawn to Anduin's hair - how it caught the light, how it looked when wet, how it darkened with oil. Wrathion would often find himself making excuses - a bug, a stray leaf, flower petals - to touch the fair prince's hair.

Dragon's were known to love gold, after all.

Anduin stirred, his brows pinched as his eyes worked under their lids restlessly. Wrathion reached out with his other hand, gently pressing it to the furrow of his brow until the wrinkle softened - no point in prematurely aging himself.

Anduin's face softened at the touch, and he brought his hand up to pillow one of his sleep warm cheeks.

Anduin truly was a beauty, and he'd heard as much from his Blacktalon many times while stuck in Draenor. Three years had passed before he'd seen him with his own eyes again, and he found he couldn't deny their words.

Anduin had been a cherubic child, but Wrathion knew that was the case for most children, and that it didn't often last. Some of the more darling children he'd seen could grow into some rather unfortunate features, sometimes as quickly as overnight. Wrathion had worried for Anduin, considering his father's face was not what one would call beautiful - far from it, in fact.   
  
Thankfully, Anduin had not taken his father's rugged features.

Anduin's nose was thin and small, upturned only slightly at the end, his lips were plush and pink, and his cheeks carried a healthy, rosy glow. Though his bone structure was still strong, it was nothing like the rigid, angular face carried by Varian Wrynn. His eyes, as well, were a soft, unassuming blue unlike the steely grey of his father's.

Wrathion had heard that his mother, before her untimely death, had been a rare noble beauty. He had also heard she was quick-witted and as sharp as a knife while also remaining soft and kind - another of Anduin's claims to fame.

Anduin was nothing like his father, right down to how his mind worked, and yet he had loved him fiercely despite it all. He had forgiven him for all the wrongs he had committed - and continued - to commit.

Wrathion breathed out a soft sigh from where he stood above Anduin, watching as his unnaturally hot breath disturbed his hair.

Wrathion wondered if Anduin would find it in himself to forgive him as he had once forgiven his father. He wasn't family to Anduin, and though he knew Anduin's kindness reached far, he wasn't certain it could reach him after all he'd done.

Wrathion had hurt Anduin deeply - and the wounds left scars deeper than the physical ones left by Garrosh.

Or, at least, that was what Anduin had written in his journals.

The words were written in both sadness and anger - his emotions manifesting themselves physically on the page. Tears punctuated each sentence, his quill sliced through pages, and the paper was wrinkled from where he had balled his hands into fists.

Nowhere else in his journals did Anduin write like this - not even at the death of his father.

It was truly a testament to how Wrathion had wronged him in his most vulnerable state. Anduin had said as much, but it hadn't really resonated with Wrathion until he had faced Anduin for the first time following his betrayal.

When Wrathion noticed Anduin beginning to stir, he moved his hand away, only realizing then that he had been lost in his own thoughts.

He was certain Anduin would be tired upon waking up, so he left through the keep window while Stormwind was still asleep.

He could thank Anduin for healing him later.  
  


»»————- ————-««  
  


Wrathion landed at a safe distance on a rocky knoll overlooking Stormwind harbor. He shifted back into his human visage but kept his horns and ruby eyes intact. He was alone, so there was no use to expending more energy than necessary.

He looked out at the empty harbor. Sailors and soldiers alike began to mill around sluggishly as the morning sun split the horizon. They waited around impatiently for the Alliance ship he had been meant to come in on.

He was prepared to ask Left how far they were when he heard a rustling of feathers and a soft whistle sounding beside him.

"Wow, you certainly made yourself a handsome human form," Taelia said. "Did you design all that fancy armor, too?"

Taelia stared back at him. She dropped from her gryphon and sat with her back pressed to it; the great beast absentmindedly picked at her messy hair.

She had flown over.

"Why are you in such a rush?" Wrathion asked.

"Why were you in such a rush?" Taelia asked.

"I wanted to see Anduin."

"I wanted to see Anduin, too."

Wrathion heaved a deep sigh and turned his back, prepared to take flight and find another place to wait for Left's return.

"Wait," Taelia said. "Don't leave so soon, especially not when I'm planning to meet Anduin for morning tea."

Wrathion turned slowly, "what does this have to do with me?"

"You don't want to join us?"

Wrathion scoffed, "I doubt the King wants to see me more than he has to."

"Oh, bit of a spat between you two?"

Wrathion rolled his eyes, "you know full well what transpired between us - those wounds haven't fully healed. I'm giving Anduin... _Space_. This is something I've seen you humans do when you anger one another."

Taelia let out a wry hum.

"What?"

"You think space is going to fix - well - all of that?"

"I don't appreciate you playing coy with me, Ms. Fordragon."

"Did you apologize to him?"

"Of course."

"Ok, but how did you apologize to him?"

"An apology is an apology - I said sorry," Wrathion said. "At any rate, I hardly think our private discussions are any of your business."

"Ah," Taelia nodded slowly, a wide grin splitting her olive cheeks. "So you didn't apologize - not really."

"I did - I just said I did," Wrathion said, staring daggers at Taelia. He was certain his eyes were flaring a harsh red, but Taelia seemed unmoved.

"There's a difference between a crappy apology and a genuine apology. Just telling him, let's say, 'whatever, sorry for bringing the Legion in and getting your dad killed', wouldn't count. You have to mean it." Taelia waved her arms wide, "Put on a show; cry a little."

"I did mean it - I am sorry," Wrathion hesitated. "Though what I did was for the greater good of-"

"Wow, you really are terrible," Taelia said with a snort. "Let me guess, you gave Anduin that spiel you were just about to give me, huh?"

Wrathion stopped, hesitated for a long moment. He had a deep dislike for showing vulnerability to people like Taelia, but he was lost for an argument.

"And what if that was what I said to Anduin?"

Taelia threw her head back, laughing heartily. Her gryphon peered down at her, its onyx eyes filled with concern.

She patted it softly to quell its worry, and it let out a soft huff.

"If anything, you've upset him even more. An apology needs sincerity - making excuses is the best way to piss someone off. Trust me, I've been on both ends."

Wrathion bit his bottom lip, peering down at the ground as if the grassy incline beneath him held the answer to his problem.

"When you're alone - truly alone - apologize to him. Apologize, and mean it," Taelia's voice had taken on a serious edge. "Don't give him anymore excuses for your actions - they were wrong, and you know it."

"Well-"

Taelia held up her hand.

The action was rude, and Wrathion would normally have taken offence, but he immediately closed his mouth. He knew there was no point in arguing with a woman like Taelia.

"I will offer my apologies," Wrathion said.

Taelia lifted one brow.

"Properly, this time."

"Good," Taelia smiled brightly up at Wrathion. "Anduin deserves it."

Wrathion nodded his head, and from his periphery noted the Alliance ship sailing in over the horizon.

"I'm glad I don't have to make amends with him," Taelia said. "I can't imagine upsetting him, it'd be like kicking a puppy, that. I like that Anduin likes me, I'm going to keep it that way."

"Yes, well, not all of us are lucky enough to have the outstanding morals that he likes," Wrathion said with a lofty wave.

"Jealous?"

"What?" Wrathion asked, genuinely dumbfounded by the raven-haired woman's comment. He awaited an answer, but she only shrugged and smirked up at him.

He saw Left exit the boat almost as soon as it touched the docks. The soldiers around her were tense, but she paid no mind to them. She looked up at the grassy knoll Wrathion stood on and headed in his direction without a word.

Wrathion sighed and sat down across from Taelia, shoulders slumped and legs crossed. He pressed a hand under his chin.

There was no point in leaving while he waited for Left.

He watched as Taelia plucked a blade of grass and held it between her top lip and nose, her eyes crossing as she stared down at it.

Her gryphon continued to peck at her hair.

Truly, what did Anduin like about this woman?  
  


»»————- ————-««  
  


They were never given a chance for morning tea.

As soon as Genn Greymane spotted Wrathion traipsing up the steps to Stormwind Keep, he called for a meeting.

He nearly dragged Wrathion to the embassy.

When they arrived, Taelia lingered around uncomfortably at the steps of the embassy, unsure if she would be welcome during such an important meeting.

Wrathion scoffed, grabbed her elbow, and gently pulled her inside.

"Brazen as you are and hesitating outside of the Alliance embassy," Wrathion said. "What a puzzling creature you are."

"I'm not a noble," Taelia whispered harshly. "I'm out of place here... Oh, light, look at the amazing armor on everyone."

"You're the ward of House Proudmoore," Wrathion responded, "and if anyone is out of place here, it is me. Relax."

Taelia cleared her throat, nodded, and stared up at the front where Anduin stood patiently.

Wrathion and Taelia had completely forgotten about the king, whose brows were furrowed in genuine confusion as he regarded the two of them.

Surely, they painted an odd picture to the king.

His face settled, however, as he looked back out at the Alliance leaders milling around the table. Prophet Velen had joined this time, and Wrathion found himself thankful that Anduin would have at least one other person on his side. He knew Anduin's plans would not go over well with the others.

Wrathion had been right about one thing.   
  
The one extra voice in the room did not provide any shelter for Anduin. He was, however, bombarded with demands to attack the Horde head on.

Tyrande had grown so angry, at a point, that Wrathion was certain she was seconds from throttling the young king.

Everyone wanted to attack the Horde.

Taelia, beside him, grew uncomfortable as Genn anxiously explained to Anduin the importance of removing the threat of the Horde before Azshara had a chance to strike.

Wrathion understood their concern - he was once a champion of it - but Azshara posed a greater threat now.

Both Velen and Wrathion attempted to interject and were immediately quieted by other voices in the room. This was no longer mindless anger, but passionate rage. Every person in the room had a reason for their hatred toward the Horde, and they would not be quieted now that such a great opportunity had shown itself.

Wrathion could admit that they probably wouldn't see a chance like this again, but that was the problem. Azshara's disappearance and the Horde conveniently weakening before she did - it was all too much to ignore.

She wanted them to attack.

Anduin had tried to explain as much, but the voices of Genn Greymane and Tyrande were far louder. Jaina was quiet and complacent through much of the shouting, but he could tell by the set of her shoulders that she was behind Tyrande and Genn.

This was the first time Wrathion had seen everyone angry with Anduin. Anduin had always been the vaunted, precious boy prince of Stormwind. People loved and respected his kind, but firm, approach to politics when he had first taken the mantle of High King.

Now, however, they hated it.

They needed a Varian Wrynn for this situation.

The Alliance leaders were looking at Anduin with genuine anger and contempt in their eyes.

Anduin, to Wrathion's surprise, still stood firm under their heated gazes. Even Genn, who now stood as Anduin's right hand, couldn't move him as he so often did.

Wrathion, without noticing, felt his chest swell with pride.

He disliked that Anduin was forced into such an uncomfortable position, but it was amazing to see Anduin's growth of character on full display. Anduin was no longer the naive little princeling Wrathion remembered from the tavern.

"You are many moons too young to be telling us how to fight a war," Tyrande said. "You didn't have your people slaughtered, you didn't have your home destroyed before your eyes. The Horde must be stopped. I will not stand witness to a boy pushing the Alliance into another false peace with savages."

Another - Tyrande had put heavy emphasis on the word. Anduin had once convinced Varian to stay his hand after their successful siege of Orgrimmar when he could have dismantled the Horde on the spot. Now that the opportunity to do it again has arisen, Anduin once again was choosing not to attack.

She had no confidence in her King. She was blaming him for the Alliance's ills.

Anduin stood firm, though something had shifted in the king's eyes, "your people?"

Tyrande stared back at him, unflinching.

"Are they not my people too? Do you think I don't understand the gravity of what Sylvanas Windrunner has done to the Night Elves? Do you think the deaths of thousands of Alliance innocents means nothing to me?" Anduin was raising his voice. There was palpable outrage in his tone.

"I am trying to prevent more deaths," Anduin shouted. "We have lost thousands at the hands of the Horde, but if we attack them now, then we'll lose everyone at the hands of a greater threat. The Horde is fragmented, yes, and this means that they will not attack while they struggle internally. This is not the same as the day I begged my father not to dismantle the Horde in Orgrimmar - this is different. You know this as well as I do."

Anduin seemed to catch himself shouting, and let out a soft breath. "Blindly attacking now is foolish - I would expect more from someone who has seen war and devastation many times before."

Tyrande's face softened some, but the anger boiling just beneath the surface was more than visible, "my opinion stills stands, my king, but I apologize for my wording."

Anduin nodded, "no offence was taken - these are difficult times, after all." Anduin looked out at the room where everyone had grown quiet. Their faces also remained unchanged, despite the cold silence that blanketed the room.

"Give me a week," Anduin proposed. "We will look for Azshara, and should she still remain hidden, then we will come up with a plan."

The other leaders in the room shared anxious glances, but the quiet murmuring sounded like affirmation - though wary - to Wrathion.

The problem with this was that one week was nothing. That wasn't enough time and he knew Anduin knew this as well as he did.

He was biding time.

Anduin shared his thanks with everyone for joining him at the meeting as they quietly left the embassy. When they had all filed out, save for Wrathion and Taelia, he hung his head, let out a deep breath of air, and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

He looked back at the two of them and smiled - tired but honest.

"You two make for a strange pair," He said. "Though I can't say I'm surprised you both get along."

Wrathion scoffed and Taelia chuckled.

Anduin beamed back at them, "I would sit and speak with the both of you, but perhaps we should save this for tomorrow. I need to plan."

Taelia and Wrathion nodded their assent quickly, and Anduin pressed a hand to his forehead. It was only morning, and Anduin looked ready to collapse. Taelia's hand reached out and she pressed it gently to his arm.

"Save that for tomorrow, too," she said. "Making important plans when exhausted like this will only make you sick. You need to rest, Anduin."

Anduin smiled warmly down at Taelia.

"I will do my best," he said.

It was a lie, and both Taelia and Wrathion knew that, but there was nothing they could say that would change his mind. They both watched quietly as Anduin turned and left the embassy, his gait weak and pained.  
  


»»————- ————-««  
  


Anduin tried to take Taelia's advice, but as he lay in his bed, he could do nothing but think of the terrible and unsuccessful meeting of the Alliance leaders.

Though he had remained firm, Tyrande's words hit him like a slab of stone.   
  
He felt restless, so instead of planning, he left Stormwind Keep and made his way to his mother's resting place.

Anduin came to visit his mother's grave quite often. It was a quiet little hovel, nestled between lavish trees and flowers in the Stormwind cemetery.

He was told she would have loved it.

Though Anduin never met his mother, never had the chance to hear her voice, even, he still felt a deep connection when in the presence of her grave. When he was feeling weak or weary, unsure of how to proceed, he always visited his mother to air his concerns to her - to ask for a guiding hand. He'd taken to thinking about her, as opposed to his father, when there were more delicate matters at hand.

He had been told, time and again, that his personality was largely the same as his mother's - soft and kind. She loved books and beautiful plants - her memorial stood as a testament to this.

His mother was also known to stay Varian's hand to prevent him from making drastic moves, much the same as Anduin had in her absence.

He wondered, in these dark times, what his mother would tell him to do in this situation. Would she stand behind him in whatever decision he made? Would she have defended him in the face of the imposing Alliance leaders?

He liked to think so.

He knew when people told him he was like his mother that it was meant as an insult - look where her kindness and passivity got her, they'd say - but he had never taken it as such. There was no shame in being kind - no shame in being gentle.

He wondered, however, how long he could remain kind and gentle when he had the weight of the Alliance drowning him in venom.

It was terrifying.

As Anduin rounded the corner, eyes focussed on the amber streams of light that painted the walkway in front of him, he hadn't expected to see anyone - least of all Wrathion.

Yet, there he was.

Wrathion must have been distracted, as he sat with his back to Anduin and his hands clasped together over his knees. The Wrathion he knew, at the Tavern, would have heard him coming long before.

Wrathion's head was hung, as if in prayer, but Anduin knew that wasn't the case - couldn't be the case.

Anduin saw, lying in front of him, a generous collection of Stormwind's wildflowers. He had been told his mother loved them more than the lavish roses grown professionally by vendors. Wrathion must have heard somewhere of his mother's love for them.

Anduin looked down at his hand, clasped tightly in it was a small bouquet of flowers he had picked around Goldshire. It looked puny compared to what Wrathion had laid out for her.

He must have spent a good deal of time looking.

Anduin could see Wrathion was mouthing something quietly. In his curiosity, he pushed closer, careful not to make too much noise. However, Wrathion seemed so engrossed that he wasn't sure a blacksmith's hammer ringing out from behind would shake him.

Taking advantage of this rare moment of vulnerability, Anduin slowly sidled closer until he could hear the dragon. It was disquieting, almost, seeing Wrathion unaware like this, his voice quiet and soft when he wasn't putting on airs.

"...what am I to do, then?" Wrathion asked, ruby eyes boring holes into the casket that held his mother. After a moment of silence, Wrathion hung his head again and scoffed incredulously. He clutched his hands in his lap, talons tapping together impatiently.

Wrathion sighed and pressed an elbow to his knee. He rested his chin on his hand, staring back up at the memorial left for his mother.

"I wonder, often, if you would have disliked me as much as Varian did. Sometimes I think you wouldn't, given how your nature was, then I remember how parents are often viciously protective of their children. Doubtless, you wouldn't want a black dragon trailing along with your precious son after he was nearly killed by one of my kind - my aunt, no less." Wrathion leaned back and rolled his shoulders, "I think that you'd be an even stronger force to reckon with than Varian was."

Wrathion was so animated - as if he were actually speaking to his mother. It was charming, in a way, but Anduin wouldn't tell Wrathion that, lest it go to his head.

Anduin couldn't stifle the snort that left him as Wrathion continued to speak to his mother, hands gesturing as if she were standing right in front of him.

Wrathion whipped around quickly then, only to let out a deep huff when he realized who was standing behind him. He didn't seem embarrassed, but Wrathion had always been a bit of a difficult character to read.

"Terrible timing, my King."

"I apologize for interrupting your lively conversation," Anduin grinned.

Wrathion rolled his eyes but inched over on the bench to allow Anduin room in front of the memorial.

"How much did you hear of that?" Wrathion asked, his eyes garnet slits as he awaited Anduin's response.

Anduin raised his brows, "I'm not you, Wrathion, I had only been standing there for a few moments."

Wrathion took the insult with a shrug.

Anduin softly placed the small gathering of flowers with Wrathion's before closing his eyes. He could feel Wrathion's eyes piercing him, but he ignored him in favour of finishing his prayer.

Wrathion, for all his problems, didn't cut him off.

When he finished, he let out a soft breath, looking up at his mother's tomb affectionately. He pressed a gentle hand to the moss-covered stone that always seemed to radiate warmth.

A mother's warmth.

Anduin could still feel Wrathion's eyes on him when he drew his hand back, and he turned to meet him. Wrathion seemed deep in thought, his eyes scanning Anduin's face for something imperceptible. They searched each other's eyes for a long while - an act nearly uncomfortably intimate - before Wrathion spoke.

"Do you come to visit your mother often?"

"Yes," Anduin said. "Even more now than when I was younger, in fact."

"Why?"

"Why did you come?"

"I see humans do this often - sitting and speaking to the dead as if they'll get an answer. I've been told it's liberating."

"But?"

"The dead cannot answer, Anduin."

Anduin laughed softly, "that may be so, but it is calming to sit quietly and imagine. People come - often to seek personal revelation - not to hear the voices of the dead."

Wrathion didn't seem convinced, but he said nothing else on the matter. Frustration was evident in the uneasy set of his shoulders.

"You were having quite an animated conversation with the dead just now," Anduin said. "Surely, it must have done something for you."

Wrathion pressed one taloned finger to his chin, "yes, because I imagine speaking to Tiffin Wrynn would have been much the same as talking to you."

"You think so?" Anduin asked. He'd been told it many times, but it meant more coming from Wrathion - it held weight. Wrathion didn't mean it as an insult.

"I have decided, however, that one Wrynn is more than enough for me."

Anduin laughed, and a for a moment, they sat in companionable silence as the sun began to dip below the horizon. Long streaks of amber faded, and the soft twilight encompassed them leisurely.

Anduin's eyes drifted to the pastel wildflowers that decorated his mother's tomb.

"What were you asking my mother, before all your talk of if she would dislike you or not?"

Wrathion hesitated, paused, something so unlike him as he seemed to war with the idea of telling him. "I asked her how I could earn her son's forgiveness."

Anduin's eyes, locked on the wildflowers before him, moved back to Wrathion's. He then smiled, but the sorrow in his eyes was not lost on Wrathion.

"I think she'd say, 'the process will be long and difficult, but until you understand why he hasn't forgiven you, then you do not deserve forgiveness.'"

The comment had obviously been disarming to Wrathion as he made no move to speak. He seemed to be mulling it over, tasting Anduin's comment as if it were a fine wine.

Anduin was preparing to retire as night was beginning to fall. He stood, his leg giving him some trouble, but Wrathion stopped him in his tracks, grabbing hold of the cuff of his shirt.

"I was wrong," Wrathion said.

Anduin turned to face him.

"I was wrong to betray your confidence, I was wrong to not place my trust in you, and I was wrong about Garrosh and Kairoz."

Anduin cocked his head. Wrathion's face was honest - raw. Wrathion himself seemed to feel it, to grow uncomfortable with how open he was, and finally looked away from Anduin.   
  
Instead, he stared down at the cool rock beneath them.

"You did not deserve such cruelty from me," Wrathion said. "I was naive - too arrogant to realize that such an enormous plan couldn't possibly be carried out with success. I made a fool of myself, I hurt the things I wanted to protect most - I hurt you - and I was too damned stubborn to realize it. I stayed away because I was embarrassed about my plan falling through - I stayed away because I was ashamed of the hurt I caused you. Anduin, how can you-"

Wrathion didn't have a chance to finish, however, as Anduin wrapped his arms tight around his shoulders.

It was Wrathion's turn to be taken aback. He held his arms out, unsure of what to do, before he tenderly wrapped them around Anduin's back. He squeezed softly, as if afraid that he would break him.

Anduin nestled his face in the hollow of Wrathion's neck, unashamedly allowing his tears - tears of both exhaustion and sadness - to stain Wrathion's fine armor.

"That was all I wanted," Anduin said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Taelia.


	6. Misery

The heavy sea winds did nothing to sate the rising panic in Wrathion's throat.

No matter how hard he beat his wings, how high he flew, nor how much noise the ocean made beneath him – he couldn't calm himself.

What only served to further worry him was why he thought those things might quell the panic. He had no idea what he was doing, and similarly, had no idea why he was so dismayed to begin with.

Anduin had forgiven him.

Wrathion dove into a great wave that skimmed the ocean beneath him, letting the nearly too cold water drown his overheating scales.

Though he was a black dragon - his body built like a great furnace - he felt hot for the first time in his life.

The heat, however, was an unfamiliar heat. It crawled beneath his skin like tiny insects, buzzing and nipping at him until he felt fit to tear his own scales off.

The cold did nothing to stop it.

Wrathion flew back up into the darkened sky, twisting and watching as water rained down into the ocean. He flew so high that his wings grazed the humid clouds above him.

He was certain if anyone or anything were to spot him now, they'd think he was either insane or wounded - perhaps both.

They wouldn't be entirely wrong.

He was turning and flying with so much abandon that he had no idea where he was - if he was far from Stormwind, or if he had somehow headed back in that direction during his confused, fitful flight.

His question, however, was answered as soon as his great body crashed into something rigid and feathered.

The beast screeched - more in shock than in pain - and Wrathion plummeted into the cold water as he made no effort to stay airborne.

This must have been what humans called, ‘getting some sense knocked into you.’

He let his body rest in the water for some time - head dipping beneath the surface of the water - floating and letting the bitter brine nip at his tarry scales. His claws were just barely grazing kelp covered rocks, so wherever he was, he was close to the shore.

He could float there for hours if he wanted. In fact, he had every intention of doing so until his felt a considerable weight upon his back.

He craned his neck back out of the water to see Taelia Fordragon standing on him with her hands on her hips. She looked concerned.

He groaned and let his head drop back into the water with a heavy splash.

"Hey," he heard her warbled voice calling out to him under the water. He felt her pulling at the protruding spikes on the back of his neck, but he knew she wasn't strong enough to lift his head.

She tried, however – and didn't stop.

He let her pull for a while before he surfaced again for a breath of air – as well as to glare her down.

When he turned to look, prepared to scold her, his attention was instead caught by the familiar lighthouse of Stormwind harbour. The light beamed out above, illuminating the still water around them in steady intervals.

"You were flying in circles," Taelia said when she noticed Wrathion's eyes trained on the lighthouse. "What in the world is going on with you, Wrathion? Are you wounded again?"

Wrathion didn't answer her, only met her with a bored stare.

"That act is getting old," she said, pointing hard into his face. Her finger was mere inches from his bared teeth.

He had an urge to nip, but he kept his teeth pressed firmly together. He had just made peace with Anduin; he didn't think biting off one of Taelia's fingers would go over very well with him.

"Dreadful creature - I don't know how someone like Anduin puts up with you.”

He shook himself like a dog, causing Taelia to fall onto her backside. She nearly fell into the water, and Galeheart crowed his worry from the lighthouse shore beside them.

Gryphons weren’t incredibly smart creatures, but Wrathion could swear that Galeheart was glaring at him.

Wrathion scoffed.

Taelia was showing no sign of leaving, so Wrathion crawled up onto the rocks beside them. He laid down then flipped himself over onto his side.

He didn’t particularly like the feeling of having someone on his back. He never understood the dragons that degraded themselves to carrying around passengers.

He laid his head on the rocks beside him and huffed out the salty, bitter water that had entered his nose. It was only now that he realized how tired his body was. He was prepared to leave again, to settle in for the night in some cave to seek some privacy, when he heard the squelching from the inside of Taelia's wet boots.

"What’s wrong?" She asked as she rounded his body to face him.

"Why are you so persistent?" Wrathion asked. "Can't you just leave me? You follow me around more than the spies of the Alliance leaders - and they despise me."

"Left and Right were worried about you. They said you hadn't answered them since dusk."

"Oh, so you're chatting up my guard, now?" Wrathion groaned.

"Really, are you hurt anywhere? I can call them."

"No need," Wrathion said. "I'm not hurt - nothing is wrong."

"Then why, pray tell, were you madly flying around like that? You're lucky it's night - if one of the royal guard would have spotted you, you'd be toast."

"I needed some fresh air."

"This isn't really what people mean when they say that," Taelia said. "I think a stroll in the garden should suffice."

Wrathion heaved a great sigh, “leave me.”

His lids felt heavy. He could easily have slept on this embankment if not for the looming threat of being seen by the Harbour guards come morning.

"Did you see Anduin today?"

"You're still here?" Wrathion bit, looking up at Taelia with disdain in his eyes. Taelia was fantastic at digging out the truth – not because she was particularly sneaky, but because she was relentless. He knew she wouldn’t leave if he didn’t answer. "Yes, I did."

"And...?" She waved her hands for him to continue.

"I apologized, like you said I should."

"Oh,” she said, smiling and rocking on her heels as if she reached some hilarious revelation. “So, he's still mad and you were just throwing a massive temper tantrum? I’ve heard that’s a thing you do often when you’re upset."

"No, he's not mad. He emphatically accepted my apology, in fact." Wrathion said the last part with muted pride, but it was not missed by Taelia.

"Oh, so that was joy that was causing all that?"

"No," Wrathion said. "Do you think I'm a child?"

"Well, yes, actually," Taelia snorted.

Wrathion rolled his eyes, “I needed to think, and the confines of my room were doing nothing to help clear my head.”

“Think about what?”

“You are so very nosy, Taelia,” Wrathion said. “I needed to think about everything Anduin said.”

Taelia cocked her head, squinted, and made one of the most disconcerting expressions Wrathion had seen to date.

“I have a question for you, Wrathion – and don’t get angry.”

“I cannot guarantee I won’t,” he said, resting his head on one outstretched wing – bored already.

“Are you- well-” she paused, scratched her head, kicked some rocks. “Are you in love with Anduin?”

Wrathion’s head snapped up, and Taelia took a step back with her hands held in front of her chest.

“No, no – don’t get angry,” Taelia said, waving her hands. “I’m not teasing, I’m genuinely curious.”

“I am a dragon,” Wrathion said. “I will live for thousands upon thousands of years.”

Taelia was quiet for a moment, “well, that’s not really an answer-”

“Humans – at most – will live to see a hundred,” Wrathion continued bitterly. “They reach their middle ages, a measly fifty, and then they begin a cruel, rapid decline from there. That is if they don’t come down with some incurable illness before then. A human lifespan is but a blink to a dragon. Like the life of a flea to a human. It would be pointless to love one.”

Taelia snorted, “I’d hardly call that a fair comparison. On top of that, why were you fighting so hard to gain the forgiveness of this ‘flea?’”

“Because I care about Anduin – he is a dear friend. That does not change the fact that I will outlive him by millennia.”

Taelia chewed her bottom lip, “Well, thousands of people die daily – and in this world, it’s hardly ever from old age. I mean, you could die before Anduin does for all you know. You’re a black dragon, and one of the last, there are plenty of people that’d love to mount your head on their castles.”

Wrathion scoffed, then curiously, paused.

That uncontrollable panic, that fear he’d felt before Taelia’s arrival, bubbled up in his throat. He swallowed it down, but he felt the uncomfortable swell of nerves in his gut threatening to climb back out.

“What?” Taelia asked.

“He’ll die, much sooner than I will, and I will live for hundreds of thousands of years beyond that,” Wrathion said slowly as he stared down at the muddy shoreline beneath him.

“He is only human,” Taelia responded with a shrug.

Wrathion hadn’t thought of it in those terms before. Certainly, Wrathion knew humans had puny lifespans, and he knew Anduin was a human, but he’d never truly thought about Anduin’s inevitable death.

There it was – the reason for that rising panic.

Anduin would die long before he would, and with everything happening now, his already short life was in peril.

Wrathion looked up at Taelia, unable to hide the concern on his face.

Taelia seemed taken aback, if momentarily, and then let out a gentle sigh – there was no malice or mocking to be found in her voice. “Hadn’t really thought about that before, had we?”

It was more a rhetorical question than anything, but Wrathion nodded his head at her regardless. He looked up sharply, “do not repeat this to anyone.”

Taelia pressed a fist to her heart, and though she wore a smug grin, he knew she wouldn’t utter it to a soul. Largely because no one would believe her, but also because, at the end of the day, Taelia Fordragon was a good person.

»»————- ————-««

After two days of grueling interrogation – Alliance leaders lining up one-by-one to verbally assault Anduin – the weary king had finally found a moment – however brief – of peace.

He sat down with Taelia and Wrathion for morning tea, and though he looked weary, he seemed ecstatic to have time for friends and idle chat.

Anduin was, after all, still a young adult.

They sat overlooking the harbour at a bakery Anduin favoured, but Wrathion couldn’t keep focussed on their conversation. Not because he was bored, but because his mind was working desperately to find a way to stem the anger of the Alliance leaders come their next meeting.

“You’re very distracted today,” Anduin said. “It’s unlike you.”

The comment was aimed at Wrathion, but he was too preoccupied to notice Anduin’s pointed look. Anduin craned his neck in an attempt to meet Wrathion’s eyes, but they were glazed over – lost.

Anduin and Taelia gave one another a confused look. Anduin shrugged and sat back in his chair, eyes watching Wrathion carefully.

It was only when – quite rudely – Taelia waved a hand in Wrathion’s face that he looked back at them.

Wrathion leaned back, eyebrows raised at Taelia.

“What’s the matter?” She asked.

“I’m thinking,” he said.

“You’re always thinking about something – so what about this time?”

“It’s something I’ve been mulling over for some time,” Wrathion said with a grimace. “Anyhow, it’s not something to be discussed so early in the morning. Besides, I’d like to hear about the book Anduin was so passionately telling us about.”

“Oh, so now you’re interested?” Anduin snorted. “You told me yesterday evening that it was all drivel.”

“It is drivel, my dear, but your ability to find enjoyment in it is charming.”

Taelia guffawed, head thrown back at Wrathion’s insolence.

Anduin laughed despite the arrogance, “you are so very condescending - do you even hear yourself?”

As Anduin and Wrathion began another round of sniping back and forth, a man slipped up behind Taelia and clapped his hands over her eyes.

“Guess who?”

Wrathion’s first instinct was to attack. His shoulders tensed and his fingers grasped at the wood beneath them, but Taelia’s answering chuckle was a quick tell that she knew this man.

“Flynn,” Taelia laughed. “What brings you all the way out here?”

“Why, you, of course,” he said.

Taelia smacked his arm, as rough as ever. Flynn rubbed it, feigning hurt.

“Well,” Flynn said, “I went on a little expedition with the champion recently, and we were able to score a massive load of Azerite. I decided I would personally deliver it.”

Taelia snorted as Flynn turned to face Anduin, “you’re as proud as ever, Flynn.”

Flynn nodded his head to Anduin, “nice to see you, Andy.”

‘Andy?’ Wrathion was taken aback by the rude way Flynn addressed Anduin, offering a cheap nickname and no bow to his king. Anduin, however, didn’t seem the least bit offended. Instead, he smiled, a genuine smile and not the one he put on for his guard or his people.

“It’s good to see you too, Flynn.”

“Oh,” Taelia started, noticing that Wrathion had gone unintroduced. She gestured to Wrathion, who still wore an incredulous expression at the brief exchange between Flynn and Anduin, “this is Wrathion.”

“Whoa,” Flynn said, clenching his fists to his chest, “not that Wrathion, right?” His voice became low, conspiratorial, “the dragon? The black dragon?”

Anduin chortled behind his cup of tea.

“Try to keep it quiet for now,” Taelia said. “Not many people know he’s here.”

“Ah,” Flynn said, offering a quick bow. He slowly looked up to meet eyes with Wrathion, his hesitation obvious. “Pleased to meet you,” he paused thoughtfully, “I think.”

Wrathion offered a short bow from where he was sitting, “and you as well.”

“So,” Flynn said after a bout of silence passed by, his body becoming visibly tense after his unexpected meeting with a black dragon, “do you two mind if I steal Taelia for a moment?”

“Not at all,” Anduin said, “and please, take your time in Stormwind. You are more than welcome to stay as long as you’d like. If I had more time I would show you around myself, but Taelia’s become quite familiar with Stormwind during her stay.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” Flynn bowed before he and Taelia left, playfully pushing one another as they descended the stairs.

“So he does have some manners,” Wrathion said.

Anduin snickered between another bite of a pastry he had been favouring for some time. Wrathion knew the king loved sweets and floral teas, but he seemed to be lacking in appetite as of late. He chewed with a bored expression, as if he were eating some tasteless ration, and washed it down with disinterest.

He was prepared to voice his concern, but Anduin had other plans.

“You seem to have taken a liking to Taelia,” Anduin said. “I would say I’m surprised – but I’m not.”

Wrathion looked up from Anduin’s abandoned pastry and half-full cup of tea, “I do not hate her.”

“You seemed quite upset when Flynn grabbed her,” Anduin raised a brow, pointedly looking down at divots Wrathion had created in the table with his claws. “You looked about ready to take his head off.”

“Of course,” Wrathion said, “she is a friend of yours. I imagine it would sadden you if she were to get hurt in your company.”

Anduin sighed, not in annoyance or contentment, and laid his cheek on his closed fist. He regarded Wrathion with a stare that was impossible for the dragon to read. “You’re very difficult.”

“So you’ve told me.”

“How did you come to know Taelia?” Anduin asked. “You both skipped over that part.”

“After I was impaled by one of the Naga in Stormsong, Taelia came upon me on the shore of Millstone Hamlet. She pestered me for some time and helped me remove the trident stuck under my wing.”

Anduin hummed thoughtfully, “you should be thankful to her. Most people wouldn’t have come within 30 feet of a black dragon – especially an injured one. They’d have been more likely to drop a bomb on you.”

“Foolhardiness,” Wrathion said with a shrug. “It’s something the two of you have in common.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Anduin said with a soft sigh.

Anduin seemed tired. Every reaction he had was delayed, and the way he laid his head on his fist and stared out at Stormwind with heavy lids spoke volumes.

“You should rest,” Wrathion said after a moment’s silence. “You say I am the distracted one, but you seem no better.”

Anduin languidly looked back at him, “I am emotionally exhausted, more than physically.”

Wrathion was confused by this concept, and that was apparent in the lizard-like tilt of his head.

“I admit that I haven’t been resting well, but I slept more than my fair share last night,” Anduin said. “It is the toll of this war on my relationships with the Alliance leaders, and their failing trust in me, that is causing my exhaustion. I am afraid that even if this war should end, they will never regain their trust in me.”

“Does it matter?” Wrathion asked, genuinely perplexed. “You are their king. Your word is law.”

“It is bad to be a ruler with no one on your side, Wrathion. Sometimes, you must find a compromise.”

“I am on your side,” Wrathion said. “Should you make a decision I do not agree with, I will argue, but I will always answer to you. This is what I agreed to when I pledged loyalty to you. I take that seriously, as the rest of the Alliance should.”

Anduin offered a soft, half-smile, “you say that now, Wrathion, but we’ve yet to have a serious disagreement. Anyone’s loyalties can change. I do not hold it against them, and I understand the anger many are targeting me with.”

Wrathion shook his head, “forgive me if this sounds like an attack on your pride, Anduin, but you need to have a stronger backbone if you want this to work.”

Anduin scoffed, rolled his eyes, and sat back in his chair. He looked miffed, but he made no move to stop Wrathion.

“I know you care for them, but some of the things that have been said and done to you are simply not acceptable. You are the High King of the Alliance and they treat you like little Anduin - son of King Varian. You told Tyrande to stop her assault on Darkshore because it put a strain on your resources, and she called you a boy and ignored your pleas – Genn followed. Genn, who already once defied orders in Stormheim and faced no real consequences. Anduin, that is not-”

“Wrathion,” Anduin finally said. “I know. I know, but if I continue to push, I will lose them. No matter what decision I make now, I am damning my reputation with someone. I would like to stay in favour with the majority.”

“What is the point in staying in favour with them if they are all dead?”

Anduin let out a sigh, his shoulders falling forward with it. “We don’t truly know what Azshara is planning – if she’s planning anything.”

“Anduin, if Azshara attacks while you are mid-war, they will die.”

Anduin squinted at Wrathion, “why are you so sure that Azshara will attack? How do you know she’s strong enough?”

“Anduin, something is wrong,” he said. “She was looking for something,” Wrathion paused, “she had her Naga patrolling and they did nothing. This tells me that she was using them to buy time – to distract from what she was doing. The Naga have been missing from all shores for weeks now, and we know monsters like them do not just leave for no reason.”

“Yes, and no one is buying that. That’s not enough proof, Wrathion. The others are taking this as their queue to attack the Horde, if anything. We need to know what she’s doing, to begin with.”

Wrathion shook his head, “I will find something.”

Anduin laughed, “what, are you going to go to Nazjatar?”

Wrathion hesitated.

“That was a joke,” Anduin said, his eyes growing serious.

“I know,” Wrathion said, his gaze pensive as he stared off at the streets below them, “but what if that really is-”

“No, Wrathion.”

Wrathion looked up at Anduin’s burning gaze, then chuckled, “well, you certainly have no problem putting your foot down with me.”

“You’ve said yourself how strong the Naga have become – putting yourself in danger like that would be foolish.”

Wrathion inclined his head, a reassuring smile on his full lips, “then I suppose I’ll just have to figure something out.”

»»————- ————-««

The problem was, Wrathion didn’t have the time needed to figure something out. His Blacktalons returned with nothing, and the Alliance’s SI:7 had become complacent, no longer taking part in the search.

The week that they had been given at the previous meeting was coming due, and they had nothing to offer.

Anduin would be torn to shreds at their hands.

As Wrathion filed into the embassy he felt the full weight of the Alliance’s anger – and it wasn’t even aimed at him. Certainly, they didn’t like him, and probably never would, but they regarded him with less distaste than they did Anduin at that very moment.

Tyrande, in particular, was making even Wrathion uncomfortable. Whatever it was that Elune had done to her, it had made her an even more formidable force.

Wrathion looked up at Anduin, and as their eyes met, he could feel the pleas for help radiating off him. Anduin would never say it – he would say it was never there to begin with – but Wrathion could read the king like a book.

He looked away from Wrathion and at the cup of tea that he distractedly held in his hand. He took a shaky drink – if only to wet his throat – and placed it down on the table behind him as Tyrande spoke.

“I assume you’ve found nothing on your wild goose chase,” Tyrande said more than asked.

“No, the Naga are still missing, unfortunately,” Anduin said. His voice sounded meek – beaten down, “now, more than ever, we need to-”

“That is quite enough,” Tyrande said with a dismissive wave of her hand. She wasn’t yelling, but the ferocity in her voice proved far more powerful than a yell. “I understand the worry, but we are now wasting too much time. One week was already more than we could afford.”

“I understand, Tyrande, but we need to look at the bigger picture.”

“The bigger picture here is that we are losing people,” she barked. “Darkshore is a constant push and pull – we do nothing but lose, then win, only to lose again. This must be stopped. If you care about your people and their wellbeing – all of your people – then you will put a stop to this by launching an attack on Orgrimmar and dismantling the Horde once and for all. Finish them off – do what your father couldn’t.”

This, the mention of Anduin’s late father, triggered something in the beaten down Anduin like nothing else had insofar.

“You wouldn’t be losing if you’d just wait for our full support. Do not place blame on me when I advised you not to do this.”

Tyrande clenched her fists at her side, “if you had sent more men then this wouldn’t be happening.”

“If I had sent more men we’d be out of resources, and then we’d be damning Stormwind and the other Alliance kingdoms to the same fate as Teldrassil. I told you that the assault on Lordaeron put a strain on us – that we couldn’t afford more.”

“This is exactly why we should be attacking head-on,” Tyrande said. “Take their bases, steal their resources – we are wasting time and gaining nothing. A full-frontal assault is now the only option we have.”

Anduin scrubbed a hand through his blonde hair, gone dark with grease from neglect, “is this what you all think? That we should charge into Orgrimmar like barbarians and take Sylvanas Windrunner’s head?”

There was a heavy silence in the air – thick with tension.

“Well,” Anduin prompted, “I need to hear; am I to assume that everyone is in agreement with Tyrande?”

Turalyon, of all people, began first – Alleria hesitated at his side, but she stood firm. “With all due respect, your majesty, Alleria and I have seen what the Horde – what Sylvanas – is capable of firsthand. I understand that you want to sue for peace and relinquish the threat of Azshara, but we will never again see the Horde so vulnerable. Saurfang has rallied against Sylvanas with many followers, and now Baine, the vaunted and much-loved leader of the Tauren, has been arrested. We could make quick work of the Horde.”

Turalyon did make sense – Wrathion agreed with much of what he had to say. However, Wrathion also understood that Turalyon – having been missing for so long on Argus – didn’t understand the danger that the Naga were now posing. There was so much at stake now – so much more than a petty feud between two factions.

Genn nodded, “I am afraid I have to agree with Tyrande and Turalyon, your majesty.”

Tyrande nodded her head sharply, then looked back to Anduin, “was it not your father who told Vol’jin that should the Horde commit an atrocity once more, that he would not hesitate to end them? Vol’jin is long dead, and the Horde have more than once betrayed that agreement he made. This cycle will only continue to repeat if you allow it, my king.”

Anduin looked uncomfortable, his brow furrowed in both frustration – and nausea? Anduin looked ill. He gently held a fist to his chest, and though the action might have appeared benign to anyone else, Wrathion recognized it as Anduin trying to quell sickness. From his clenched fist, Wrathion could see tiny, easily missed tendrils of light.

Wrathion couldn’t watch the king squirm any longer, so he finally spoke up in his defense.

“But it isn’t just about stopping the threat of the Horde, is it, Tyrande? Genn? Turalyon?” Wrathion asked, and though it was more to get their attention than anything, he meant it. He carefully watched Anduin through the corner of his eyes after he caught their attention.

When Anduin had righted himself, correcting his posture and removing his hand, Wrathion looked back to the three hardened, veteran soldiers.

They met him with dangerous, icy stares. They knew what Wrathion had implied, but they impatiently waited for him to continue.

“This isn’t necessarily about safeguarding the future of the Alliance – this is about personal vendettas, and only personal vendettas.”

“How dare you make such bold assumptions, dragon?” Genn asked.

“Is it a bold assumption when it is common knowledge that you hold a fiery grudge against Sylvanas after she slaughtered your son in Gilneas? Did you not once already betray King Wrynn’s orders to selfishly hunt her down in Stormheim? I’d hardly call you a level-headed decision maker.”

Wrathion allowed Genn to stalk up to him and grab him by the front of his armor. He lifted him off the ground with ease, snarling.

Wrathion stared down at him, making no effort to fight back.

“Genn,” Anduin said coolly, “please, do not let this come to blows.”

Genn let out one final snarl, his eyes boring into Wrathion’s before he none too gently placed him back on the floor. He said nothing more as he took his place beside Tyrande – though his face gave away the boiling rage.

“I cannot believe, your majesty, that you would let a dragon – a black dragon of all things – have a say in what’s right for the Alliance. Do you not find it interesting that he’s pushing you to find Azshara before attacking the Horde?” Tyrande leveled an accusatory glare at Wrathion, “for all we know, he could be working with the Horde. He could be pushing you into inaction so it gives them time to rally their forces and attack. By Elune, Anduin, he could even be working with Azshara.”

“That’s foolish,” Wrathion scoffed.

“Were you not working with the Horde in Pandaria?” Tyrande sniped.

“I was working with both factions,” Wrathion admitted with a willowy shrug. “I wanted everyone to be united under one banner to fight the Legion-”

“The Legion you brought to us,” Tyrande cried.

“-I didn’t much care which banner it was under,” Wrathion continued without missing a beat. “At least, I didn’t care until I saw Garrosh’s dwindling sanity with my own eyes. I explained this to King Wrynn already – I was doing what I thought was right,” Wrathion paused, licked his lips, “but this – this is different. Don’t you see?”

Not one person in the room looked convinced. Instead, they all regarded Wrathion with both disgust and anger – and perhaps rightfully so. To them, he was just another Katrana Praestor, come to seduce and destroy another King of the Alliance.

“I am a black dragon, that is true,” Wrathion continued, unable to hold back the true reason for his crusade against Azshara, “but it is my job as a black dragon – one of the very last – to protect Azeroth. You lot quarrel like children while the very ground you walk upon is dying – and if Azeroth dies, both the Alliance and the Horde will perish. Azshara, at this very moment, poses a greater threat to Azeroth than both the Alliance or the Horde. She’s gone missing, and there is a very good chance it has something to do with the mass harvesting of Azerite.”   
  
“The Horde uses Azerite to create weapons,” Tyrande said. “One of your problems will be solved the moment we eradicate them.”

Wrathion cocked his head, baffled. “The Alliance also harvests it. Neither you nor the Horde is free of this blame. However, your SI:7 can clearly see how much the Horde is using, and my Blacktalon keep close tabs of how much you consume,” Wrathion realized, perhaps a little too late, that he shouldn’t have mentioned his own people spying on the Alliance. He continued, despite the distrustful looks he received, “we have no idea how much of her life-blood Azshara might be taking, or what she is doing with it. Azeroth is being abused and tainted, and you are more interested in getting revenge. This is my problem, High Priestess.”

Wrathion had avoided bringing up Azerite before – worried about stirring up anger for pointing his finger – but he had no choice. He couldn’t stand to see the amount of blood that would be stolen from Azeroth to fuel the battle between the Horde and Alliance.

Wrathion looked away from Tyrande – who looked fit to cut him down where he stood – only to look back up at Anduin for his response. Tyrande followed his gaze, staring down their king.

Instead of providing an answer or imparting his wisdom, perhaps even anger, they were both met with a blank stare from Anduin.

Tyrande seemed to think nothing of it and continued to make her point to the other leaders in the room – all deeply insulted by Wrathion bringing up the touchy subject of Azerite.

Wrathion, however, knew that there was something strange about the king’s behaviour. He halfheartedly listened to Tyrande’s quips, watching Anduin carefully.

Anduin took a shaky sip of his tea as the room erupted with arguments.  
  
That strange tea.

It was another floral blend, but there was something off about it. It was the smell of the blend. Wrathion recognized the scent, but he’d never smelled it in a tea.

Somewhere else.

Tyrande looked back at Anduin, but she didn’t seem to notice the deep tremble that climbed from his legs to his arms. In fact, no one else seemed to notice it.

How could they miss it?

“Anduin – the decision needs to be made tomorrow,” Tyrande’s voice had taken on a quiet, but lethal edge. “A day is all we can offer, now.”

Wrathion felt anger on Anduin’s behalf, anger that they would act as though they could lord their power over their king.

“My king?”

Anduin could not respond.

Instead, their good king began to cough. Benign at first, yes, but in seconds the king began clutching at his chest, heaving and sputtering as if unable to breathe.

He fell, grasping at the table for leverage and only managing the send everything on it crashing to the ground. Tiny, weak plumes of light climbed from his hands as he tried to heal whatever it was that was ailing him. However, the king himself didn’t seem to know what was ailing him, as his hands frantically traced from his stomach to his throat.

The teacup that he had set on the table shattered to the ground in the flurry. The contents of the cup splattered about, staining the cold stone beneath them a murky purple as Anduin now crawled along the floor like a dog, desperately grasping for something that wasn’t there.

Wrathion didn’t particularly care about the teacup, nor the mess it made, but the powerful scent it emitted upon splattering against the floor. It was this scent that helped Wrathion realize where he had smelled it before. It billowed up like a thick smog – there was no way to miss.

It was poison.

The other leaders sprang into action, milling about Anduin and asking him what was wrong as he collapsed onto his stomach, still pitifully gasping for air. They reached down to help him up, but Anduin was now unresponsive; his limbs growing limp.

They didn’t know what was wrong.   
  
Turalyon reached down to check Anduin’s pulse, and this was when Anduin began to violently convulse.

All this in the space of seconds.

Wrathion forcefully pushed his way through the leaders, rolling Anduin onto his back and leaning down so his nose was inches from Anduin’s mouth.

He needed to confirm it for himself.

Sure enough, he could smell the poison on the King’s lips, and it was more clear than ever what kind of poison it was.

Wrathion tried to steady him, holding his jaw firm to keep him from biting his tongue, but the poison was vicious.

Black Lotus.

“It’s Black Lotus,” Wrathion said, taken aback only momentarily by how weak his own voice has become at that revelation. “It’s killing him. What are you doing? Help him, you need to summon an alchemist right now!”

They were taking too long.

Before any of them could even think to open their mouths, Wrathion shifted into his drake form. As he did so, he destroyed the roof of the embassy but paid no mind to the dangerous debris it rained down on the Alliance leaders that were still lagging behind, gape-mouthed.

He held Anduin firmly in his claws, taking care not to squeeze him too tightly as his first set of convulsions came to a stop.

It was not a good sign – the second set of convulsions would be the last.

As he flew above the farm and into Stormwind, he found his wings faltering from the pure adrenaline coursing through him. He glided down, taking one steadying leap off the castle wall to gain his bearings again. He paid no mind to the way the stone and wood shattered and splintered beneath his weight – collapsing to the ground in a massive heap as the residents of the dwarven district ran screaming.

The guard standing watch looked at him in both confusion and panic as he flew overhead with their King clasped in his claws.

How terrible must that have looked to them, at that moment? A black dragon flying overhead with their dying king; laying waste to the walls of their city.

Wrathion dove into the mage district and straight into Alchemy Needs without a second thought. He crumbled the front of the building as he shifted a little too late to avoid doing damage to the structure, leaving the entirety of the store exposed.

It was late, but he felt relief wash over him when he saw Lilyssia Nightbreeze standing against the wall, her mouth sealed into a thin line.

She was taken aback, of course, her eyes making clear the fear he struck into her heart. Her demeanor, however, shifted in seconds when Wrathion laid her king on the ground before her.

“He was poisoned,” Wrathion said, and he could barely hear himself over the painful ringing in his ears. The adrenaline, the fear, all of it sinking down on him. “I could smell Black Lotus on him. Someone put it in his tea.”

Lilyssia was surprisingly calm given the circumstance, but she worked quicker than he’d ever seen some of the best rogues work. She checked Anduin’s pupils, checked his mouth and the rigidity of his arms, seemingly satisfied with Wrathion’s conclusion about the type of poison.

Black Lotus, if crafted by a smart alchemist, could either make a horrendously deadly poison or a vastly useful potion.

Wrathion was lucky to have been raised around rogues who were incredibly skilled with poisons. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to place what was happening in time if he hadn’t been.

Wrathion forced Anduin to look at him. He held his head firm, staring down into those blue, doe eyes that were now so filled with pain and fear.

There was still lucidity in them, and Wrathion wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“You’re not going to die like this,” Wrathion said, knowing full well that this statement was more to quell his own worry than Anduin’s.

Almost on cue, as if in a sick attempt to prove Wrathion wrong, the king began another fit of convulsions – this one worse than the first.

Blood bubbled up and sprayed from the king’s throat, draining down the side of his face in thin rivulets and staining both he and Wrathion’s armour in the process.

Whoever had poisoned Anduin – they had given him more than a lethal dose. They had intended to kill him quickly, before a healer could place what was happening to him.

Lilyssia rolled the king onto his side as he continued to convulse. Blood was now dripping from the king’s ears and onto the floor beneath them.

“This is the second one,” Wrathion warned, once again taking hold of Anduin’s jaw to keep him from damaging his tongue.

Lilyssia sprang to her feet, pulling vials and flask from behind her in a flurry. She seemed to care little for the loss of some of the more expensive looking potions he saw crashing to the ground behind her.

It was comforting, to Wrathion, knowing that Anduin was still much-loved by many of the people of Stormwind. Being around the other Alliance leaders for so long had nearly convinced him that everyone was against Anduin.

Lilyssia returned in seconds with a vial of a clear liquid that looked like nothing more than water.

“Tip his head back and hold his mouth open,” she said to Wrathion, who complied immediately. He tilted Anduin’s head back, holding his purpling lips open as Lilyssia funneled the liquid into his blood-stained mouth.

Anduin choked and began flailing against him as the liquid sloughed down his throat, but Wrathion held him firm.

Within seconds – Anduin stopped moving entirely.

Anduin went limp against Wrathion, and it would have alarmed him if not for the fact that Wrathion could feel Anduin’s breathing evening out. Whatever Lilyssia had done, she had managed to stop the progression of the poison’s assault on Anduin’s body with that one vial.

He knew the poison must have done a good deal of damage, given Anduin’s comatose state and the volume of blood lost, but he only hoped it could be sated by a healer in time. He only hoped Anduin would not remember this pain – this fear.

“Thank you,” Lilyssia said, her voice breathless and laced with tears. “Light, thank you. A moment longer and he would have succumbed to the poison.”

Wrathion let out a deep breath that he hadn’t even known he had been holding.

However, as the panic and adrenaline began to settle, he realized the weight of what had just happened, and also what he’d just done.

He looked to his left, out of the store that no longer had a front-end, only to see several royal guards poised with their swords and spears drawn in his direction, and a hoard of common folk standing behind and staring down at him in a mixture of fear and anger.

A black dragon held their bloody, unconscious king to his chest and had left destruction in his wake.

This situation did not bode well for Wrathion.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this took long, but lord did I struggle with this! I know where I want the story to go, but I was having a difficult time _getting_ there, y'know? 
> 
> I'm now on the right track! Updates should be coming more frequently now that I've pulled myself out of that little plot slump.
> 
> Thanks for reading. <3


	7. Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A _slightly_ uneventful chapter leading into the serious stuff. 
> 
> Fits about the hit the shan!

It started out like a warm, electric weight in his gut.   
  
It was almost pleasant, soothing the twisting panic that normally took root during these meetings.   
  
It was unfortunate that it didn’t stay pleasant.   
  
The heat quickly began to simmer, steadily rising to an uncomfortable boil as he stood at the front of the room.   
  
Anduin took another drink to soothe it, hoping that this pain wouldn’t result in an embarrassing show of him spewing the contents of his stomach in front of his respected companions.   
  
He gently cleared his throat and pressed a fist to his chest, hopeful that no one could see the panicked way in which he encouraged the light to find the source of his current problem.   
  
Someone did see.   
  
Wrathion was watching him carefully through those ever-attentive ruby eyes. There was concern in his expression, one of his carefully groomed brows making a smooth incline as he examined Anduin. Instead of asking him if he was alright, however, he began speaking.   
  
He was thankful for Wrathion’s ability to read him, at that moment. Wrathion drew all the attention away from him while he tried to control his pain.   
  
Anduin wasn’t quite sure what Wrathion was saying anymore, but he did his best to focus on both the conversation and the source of his pain. Everything was warbled – strange and distant to his ears.   
  
The next time he looked up, he saw Genn holding Wrathion off the floor by the front of his shirt.   
  
Anduin removed his hand, forcing himself to stand straight and his voice to remain steady.   
  
_‘Genn,’_ he remembered saying, gritting his teeth against the climbing pain, _‘please, do not let this come to blows.’  
  
_He wasn’t sure if his voice had come off steady, but no one in the room made any indication that he’d sounded strange.   
  
Genn put Wrathion down and stalked back to Tyrande. They all stared at Wrathion with pure contempt, and though Anduin felt bad for him, he was glad the attention was off him.   
  
The pain wasn’t disappearing. Instead, it was climbing, climbing so high that he felt it in his throat, and it tightened there like a rope.   
  
It was becoming difficult to breathe.   
  
This was not a normal sickness.   
  
Tyrande – the whole of the of the room – was now staring at Anduin, awaiting a response to a question he hadn’t even heard.   
  
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed.   
  
However, they cared so little for what he had to say that they passed off his lack of an answer as nothing. They continued to argue amongst themselves – except Wrathion.   
  
Wrathion stared at him with an inquisitive eye again.   
  
Anduin – in hopes of controlling both the rising panic and his throat feeling like it was tightening – took another drink.   
  
It was only then, as he took that final sip and felt his throat fully close, that he realized the tea would do nothing for him.   
  
It was the tea causing all of this.   
  
He had been poisoned.   
  
He was frustrated at himself, more than anything, for not realizing this sooner.   
  
_‘My King?’_ He heard Tyrande call.   
  
He opened his mouth to speak, to ask for help, but a cough erupted from his dammed throat. He could taste blood, faintly, on the back of his tongue.   
  
That was when the poison began its raging storm on his body.   
  
It climbed from his stomach like lava and scorched him from stem to stern. He couldn’t keep himself upright. He scrambled at the desk beside him fruitlessly and collapsed to the floor.   
  
He tried so hard to tell them what was happening, but instead, they stared on in confusion as he hacked and choked through poor attempts to speak.   
  
He couldn’t reach the light anymore – his body no longer acting of its own accord. He could feel nothing but the pain that screamed through his limbs like nothing he’d ever felt before.   
  
Turalyon reached for him with the light, and he knew it would do nothing for him. Poison was different – no one was the same. Sure enough, just as soon as that thought had crossed his mind, he felt his muscles tighten uncomfortably. They didn’t stop tightening, and he knew this to be the telltale sign of a convulsion. He’d had it described it to him many times before through people with head injuries or illnesses, but he’d never felt it himself.   
  
He could never have imagined it to be so terrible. It was horrifying to feel so powerless against one’s own body.   
  
_‘I’m going to die,’_ he thought.   
  
His sight was already funneling, ebbing in and out as his body began to spasm.   
  
He noticed, as he struggled with his vision, that Wrathion’s face was suddenly close. He could feel his clawed hands gripping his chin, holding him steady.   
_  
‘Black Lotus,’_ he heard Wrathion say. He knew Wrathion was still talking, but he couldn’t focus on it as another wave of pain crawled up his back and gripped his neck in a cold, invisible vice.   
  
Anduin knew what that was – Black Lotus. He’d seen alchemists use it to create potions for the champion’s use before, and he’d known it to be a dangerous plant in its natural state.    
  
Now he knew firsthand just how dangerous it could be.  
  
He faintly heard Wrathion shouting something at the other leaders, but even his ears were becoming obscured. It was difficult to hear when your body was so wracked with pain.   
  
He wondered if that had anything to do with the weightless feeling he suddenly felt. He wanted to look to see, but even his eyelids felt heavy and sore.   
  
His arms and legs were no longer touching the floor.   
  
There was a faint breeze, even, tickling the back of his neck.   
  
Was someone carrying him?   
  
It seemed, just as soon as he had been lifted, his legs and arms were back on the ground. Now, however, there was a nearly uncomfortably warm weight at his back. He pressed into it, the only reprieve he had from the once fiery pain in his body becoming a bitter cold.   
  
He knew this feeling to be organ death.   
  
When Garrosh has crushed him with the divine bell, and he lay under the rubble just barely holding on, this was how it had felt.   
  
For the second time in his life, Anduin Wrynn was dying.   
  
As his mind began to drag him down that route, he felt two hot weights at the sides of his face, and he was forced to stare up into blazing eyes.   
  
_‘You’re not going to die like this,’_ as if in answer to Anduin’s tormented thoughts.   
  
Anduin wanted to believe that, but just as soon as Wrathion spoke those words, the pain became too much to bear and Anduin lost hold of his conscious mind. 

»»————- ————-««

  
Anduin awoke with a gasp.   
  
A gasp that caused him to double over in agony.   
  
He clutched at his gut with both hands, letting the light seep into his body to temporarily mend his battered organs. It didn’t do much to sate the pain, but it was enough to allow him some time to gather his thoughts.  
  
There wasn’t much collecting to do, however, as Anduin remembered everything up to moment he fainted from pain with agonizing clarity.    
  
It was now night time, and the craggy ground beside him was outlined by the sullen moonlight streaming into his chambers.   
  
He’d been poisoned.   
  
He’d been poisoned and had somehow lived.   
  
_‘You’re not going to die like this.’_  
  
He must have been loud when he’d first woken, as a guard entered Anduin’s room through a door he’d nearly pulled off the hinges. His face was relaxed, but his posture noticeably tense at the sight of his weary king.   
  
“Where is Wrathion?” It was the first question he asked, and it was the most important one he could think of. At that moment, he didn’t care who it was who poisoned him because he knew it would have been all too easy for his people to have Wrathion blamed for it.   
  
He had no doubt Wrathion had been exiled, or worse yet, stuck in the stuffy Stockades to await trial.    
  
The guard looked surprised that this was the king’s first question, perhaps even sad.  
  
It was the sadness in his eyes that caught Anduin off-guard. What was it about his question that had upset the guard so?   
  
“He has been locked up in the Stockades for a week, your majesty, following his attempt on your life.”  
  
Anduin knew that this would be the likely answer, “He didn’t this to me. He can be released.”   
  
The guard uncomfortably shifted under his king’s scrutiny, “my apologies, your majesty, but the dragon admitted to poisoning you. In fact, he told the royal court at trial that he had been poisoning you for months.”   
  
Anduin paused, his brows furrowed as he took in this strange information. This, of everything, he hadn’t expected to hear.   
  
Was he still sleeping?  
  
“No,” Anduin shook his head incredulously, “there is no way. He was the one who figured out what it was I had been poisoned with – he was the one telling me I wasn’t going to die. I would have died if he hadn’t been standing there.”   
  
The guard shook his head, and his eyes looked to be filled with – pity? Again, that strange, melancholy look the guard had speared him with moments earlier. “My king, the dragon said that he had accidentally dosed you with too high of a concentration of Black Lotus.” The guard shifted again, appearing distressed by his king’s upset over Wrathion. “I am certain there are others who could explain it better. Lady Jaina has been waiting to see you for some time. She sleeps in the halls outside of your chamber, would you like me to bring her in?”   
  
Anduin, whose eyes were still wandering the bedspread in front of him as if it held the answers he wanted, nodded his head.   
  
The guard made quick work of the distance between the bed and the door.  
  
He wasn’t certain how much time had run between the guard leaving and Jaina entering his room, but suddenly he was encompassed by her arms. He hugged her back, his head cradled in the junction between neck and shoulder. In all this confusion, it was nice to have a steady, familiar weight at his side.   
  
“I am so sorry I didn’t see it sooner, Anduin,” she cried.   
  
Anduin paused, then slowly pulled back from her embrace that had suddenly grown cold.   
  
“See what?”   
  
“See what he was planning all along,” Jaina said. “Anduin, he admitted to everything so – so easily. I promised after Varian that nothing like this would happen again, and look,” she motioned to Anduin’s bedbound form, “look where we are.”    
  
Anduin scoffed, “you don’t mean to tell me you think Wrathion did this as well, do you?”   
  
Jaina, again, shared the same look the guard had only a minute earlier.    
  
He had grown to loathe that look.   
  
Jaina’s voice became soft, and she pulled a chair up to Anduin’s bedside quietly. She looked down, and her expression was so pitying that it made Anduin’s skin crawl.   
  
“Anduin, how are you feeling?”   
  
Anduin laughed humourlessly, “well, not very well, considering no one will tell me what’s happening.”   
  
Jaina hummed out something too quiet for him to hear and grabbed hold of one of Anduin’s outstretched hands. She held it for some time, then shifted it back and forth as if checking to see if it were real.   
  
Up close like this, Anduin could see by the dark circles under her eyes and her frazzled, unwashed hair, that Jaina had likely been very distraught this whole time. He had been lost to the world for an entire week, after all.   
  
“Tell me what happened,” Anduin said. “From beginning to end. I know I was poisoned, so just tell me what happened _after_.”  
  
Jaina continued staring down at his hand for some time before she gave it one soft pat and placed it back on the bed next to him.   
  
“We knew something was off about Wrathion’s behaviour the moment he pushed through us and just – he just knew what you had been poisoned with immediately. Even the best alchemists couldn’t figure that out on their own, Anduin.” She sighed softly, “Wrathion grabbed you in his claws in the embassy and carried you over to Lilyssia in the mage district. She cured you, and just in time. We got there, and he immediately gave himself up to us. He knew he’d been caught.”   
  
Anduin shook his head, “that doesn’t make any sense, Jaina.”  
  
“We took him to the stockades and carried out a trial the following day-”  
  
“I don’t believe this,” Anduin continued shaking his head as if that would change what he was hearing. “That isn’t – Jaina, you cannot carry out a trial without my presence. Why did you not wait for me to wake up?”  
  
“Anduin, you need to listen,” Jaina said, her voice still soft, but a serious edge had ruptured through. “I would not lie to you. We only did this because he admitted to everything so easily.”   
  
Anduin looked up, his eyes pleading, and it nearly tempted Jaina to look away – to lie to avoid hurting the boy she’d seen grow from a soft-tempered child to an adult. Lying, however, would have been far crueler.   
  
“He knew he was trapped, so he willingly gave up all the information we needed. He said he had been dosing you with Black Lotus to make you weak and tired, to confuse you so he could convince you to follow his plan. He said one of his subordinates made a crucial mistake and dosed you too high. Wrathion’s goal, as Tyrande had suggested, was to keep you firmly in place so Sylvanas would have time to acquire resources and rally her troops,” She frowned bitterly. “His plan certainly worked. He was so proud of himself as he told us this.”    
  
Anduin licked his dry lips before pressing a shaking hand to his chin.   
  
“Then why-” Anduin paused, “why did he go so far? He was already in Stormwind, right where he wanted to be. Why would he have put flowers at my mother’s grave? Why would he come to me seeking forgiveness? He already had access to me, so what was the point of his behaviour?”  
  
Jaina shook her head, and Anduin couldn’t tell if it was dismissive or pitying. Either way, it wasn’t what Anduin wanted to see.   
  
“Jaina, I talked with him regularly. In fact, at the start of this alliance, he wasn’t even in agreement with me. It was only after his time in Stormsong Valley with the Naga that he changed his stance. If he had been planning this all along, then why would he have been so vehemently against the Horde at the start?”  
  
“Anduin-”  
  
“Light, he even became friends with _Taelia_ ,” Anduin said. “There would be no reason to do this if his intentions were just to manipulate _me_. Jaina, he has gone above and beyond-”  
  
“Why can’t you see what everyone else sees?” Jaina cried.   
  
It was only then that Anduin realized tears were streaming down her face. Tears – tears laced with fear.   
  
“I cannot sit here and watch you go down the same path your father did, Anduin,” she sobbed. “Anduin, Wrathion has already once betrayed you. Why is it so shocking that he’d do it again?”  
  
Anduin grew quiet, his hands clasped in his lap. There was nothing he could do but stare down into them, now unable to meet eyes with the crying Jaina. Fierce, determined Jaina who rarely showed a crack in her tough exterior was crying for him.   
  
She stopped, dabbing at her eyes roughly with a handkerchief she had on hand. It was clear that she’d done a great deal of crying in the past few days, judging by the wrinkled state of the once white material.   
  
He couldn’t sit by and allow her tears to sway him. Instead, Anduin grabbed both of her hands in his, staring her dead in the eyes. He needed to be firm, lest she choose to focus only on his waifish appearance. “It was not him who poisoned me, no matter what he says.”   
  
Jaina stared back at Anduin, and for a moment he was certain he had seen clarity there. Clarity and consideration.  
  
It was gone as soon as it had appeared, however.   
  
“Get some rest,” she said as she rose to her feet, pulling her hands free of his. “When you’re feeling better, we need to decide what next to do.”   
  
Anduin didn’t look up at her, even as she left his room. 

»»————- ————-««

  
The following two days, Anduin realized he would be bedridden for longer than he’d hoped.   
  
He tried rising from the bed for the fifth time that day, keeping a steady hold of the light while he did so. The light, however, was not quite enough to sustain his weakened body.   
  
This was far too much like his days following the divine bell incident – agonizing days that he very much wanted to keep buried.   
  
He was only further frustrated by his situation as he so desperately wanted – no, needed – to visit Wrathion in the stockades. He had been told they could not bring Wrathion to him, as he posed a flight risk, so his only option was to visit him himself.   
  
_‘He’s a dragon, after all,’_ his guard had told him with a sheepish rub of his head.   
  
“Tea, your majesty?” One of the kitchen scullery maids asked. She was a young human woman, and she wore a gentle expression. He was surprised she didn’t see the hilarity in offering him tea after what had just happened, but instead of growing angry with her he simply smiled and told her he wasn’t feeling particularly thirsty.   
  
Anduin didn’t think he could drink anything that wasn’t made with his own hands again.    
  
He watched as she left, shoulders humped, and waited for the telltale click of his door to begin trying his luck at standing again.   
  
He knew if he were to be caught doing it, he would be chastised, but he couldn’t stay bedbound a day longer when there were so many pressing matters to attend to.    
  
He pressed a hand to his chest again, forcing his legs to hold his weight.   
  
On the exterior his body was fine, but his heart protested the movement, as did his gut, where his organs were no doubt still bloodied and ravaged after the poison. Due to the languishing nature of this particular poison, he couldn’t be properly healed for at least a month’s time, as the poison would take some time to be leeched from his body.   
  
Whoever had done this, this was their goal. To leave Anduin bedridden and unable to take up the mantle.   
  
Anduin, headstrong as he was, managed to push himself into a standing position, only to fall back onto his bed with a bitter curse. It was unlike him, to lose his calm so quickly, but he had so much he needed to take care of, and his battered body was preventing him from doing so.   
  
He cursed again, punching the pillows beside his head.   
  
He was so frustrated he could feel tears beginning to push their way out.   
  
There was so much wrong, and even Anduin’s body wouldn’t let him fix things.   
  
He was so angry, so exhausted from being frustrated and trying so hard to just move his body, that he hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep.   
  
This time, instead of by a maid, he was woken by Taelia.   
  
He felt his spirits lift at the sight of her, as instead of the pitying look he’d received from everyone else, even his closest of friends, she wore a determined smile.   
  
He looked down and realized she was pushing a wheelchair. Not many used them, as Stormwind was never properly equipped for them, so he was surprised at the sight. Anduin would normally be averse to using one after he’d been forced to use crutches so long, but he knew this was his only option if he wanted to leave his chambers.   
  
“Flynn and I whipped this up for you,” she said. “I know It’s only temporary, but it’s best you don’t stay cooped up in here.”  
  
“Thank you, Taelia,” Anduin said, “you and Flynn both.”   
  
“Hey, what are friends for?” Taelia smiled. “Plus, it seemed to me like everyone was pretty bent on keeping you locked up here.” Taelia leaned over the handles of the chair, “so, where is your chauffeur taking you today?”  
  
“Could I bother you to take me to Wrathion?” Anduin asked.   
  
“Of course,” Taelia snorted. “Why’d you think we made this so quickly? I told Genn I was just going to take you to your mother’s grave and to see the ocean. He didn’t look like he trusted me very much, but he gave me the go ahead. Suppose he doesn’t want to look like too much of a tyrant.”  
  
“They don’t want me to see him, do they?”   
  
“Not at all,” Taelia said with the shake of her head. “The guards wouldn’t even let me in to see him, and I practically threw myself at them.” She laughed uncomfortably and combed a hand through her silky black hair. “I feel a little bad acting like that, but something about all this feels... Off.”   
  
“I know what you mean,” Anduin said, his expression downcast.    
  
“I know he admitted to all of it, but I just can’t believe it,” she shook her head. “He talked about you to me all the time,” Taelia said with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “There is no damned way that stupid dragon was out to kill you. No way.” Taelia looked at Anduin seriously, “you should know, I was fully prepared to stand for him during the trial, but he gave me no room to do so. It’s impossible to defend someone who swears that they did something wrong.”   
  
“Tealia,” Anduin started, weary to even ask this question as so many had denied him an answer, “what was the judgment?”   
  
“He is to be given to Alexstrasza,” Taelia made a face, as if unsure what to think of that. Of course, Taelia did not know about the horrific experimentations the red flight had done to the black flight.   
  
Anduin, however, knew just how dire this situation was for Wrathion.   
  
“He didn’t put up a fuss about that?” Anduin asked, brows furrowed.   
  
“Not at all,” Taelia said with a slow shake of her head.   
  
“I’ll speak to him,” Anduin said as Taelia brought the chair to his side. “I can still get him out of this. There’s obviously a reason behind his lies.”

»»————- ————-««

  
Unfortunately, Anduin was not allowed to speak to him.   
  
“What do you mean I cannot enter?” Anduin asked, his voice far more vicious than he had intended. The frustration paired with the stress was doing damage to his normally impenetrably calm nature.   
  
“I’m sorry, your majesty, but those are our orders.”   
  
“I am the King of Stormwind,” he said, “these are my dungeons. It is I who decides who enters and who doesn’t. Now, let me in.”   
He hated to be so brutish with his own guard, but frustration could push even the gentlest of souls to the edge.   
  
“I am afraid we cannot allow that,” Genn said. He came up beside the soldier standing his ground against his king’s rage. He patted him on the shoulder and whispered an apology, telling him that he was relieved for the night.   
  
As the man left, Genn was left standing in front of Taelia and Anduin.   
  
“Why?” Anduin asked, his brows furrowed.   
  
“The dragon has confused you,” Genn said. “He’s convinced you he is your friend, but he is not. Anduin, he will only further corrupt you if we continue to let him have his way. This is what he wanted – to cause derision amongst our ranks.” He looked up at Taelia with scolding eyes, then back down at Anduin, “I’m certain Taelia told you that he is to be handed over to Alexstrasza in a day’s time?”   
  
“She and her red dragons experimented on his flight – on him! He is terrified of them, Genn, you cannot do this. He should be judged by his own flight, at the very least, not-”  
  
“He has no flight left,” Genn spat. “He has no flight left because they were evil – corrupted long before Neltharion ever showed his face. He is no different than the rest of them.”    
  
“Genn, please, Wrathion is different. He isn’t corrupted – I know corruption, I’ve seen it with my own eyes, and many times before.”   
  
“Anduin,” Genn said, leaning down and grabbing both sides of Anduin’s face, “please, please, just relax. In time, you will understand that this was all for the greater good. I know you thought he was a friend, I know you cared for him, but everything he might have told you were lies. Do you understand?”  
  
Anduin couldn’t say anything. No one would listen to him, even his own advisor spoke to him like a child, as if he wouldn’t know at this age whether he had been manipulated or not. He could only look down at the ground beneath them, unable to find the words to argue back with Genn when they were so easily shot down every time.  
  
He was certain that, even had Wrathion argued that he hadn’t poisoned him, they’d have still pinned the blame on Wrathion.     
  
“Taelia, take him to get some fresh air,” he stopped, then opened his mouth again. “And, please, do not fill his head with foolish ideas. You were at the trial – you heard very clearly everything Wrathion had to say.”  
  
He did not like the way Genn spoke about him as if he weren’t really there, but again, words and strength failed him in the moment he needed them most.   
  
“I didn’t say anything wrong,” Taelia said, taken aback. “I simply told him what happened – does the king not have the right to know what happened?”   
  
“He does, but the language Wrathion used shouldn’t be lightened. Anduin needs to hear exactly what Wrathion told us,” Genn said. “What Wrathion did to him was horrible, and no different than what the Prestor’s did to Varian. I will not let Anduin go down the same path – the situation will be handled properly this time.”   
  
Of course, everyone always fell back to the Prestor’s – to Onyxia. Anduin couldn’t say he blamed them all. What was done to his father and his mother was nothing short of horrific. It was cruel of them, however, to think that after everything that happened to them, that he’d fall into the same trap they did.   
  
Anduin was smart, he always was, and he knew that Wrathion hadn’t been behind this.   
  
“Then let me see him,” Taelia announced. “Let me talk to Wrathion myself. I’m not attached to him like Anduin is, I can ask him everything Anduin wanted to know-”  
  
“No, Taelia,” Genn said, his voice firm. “You’ve spoken to him enough in your own time – he _and_ his two guards. You do not need to get wrapped up into this any more than you are. Get any closer, and you could be tried for treason.”    
  
The threat hung heavy in the air, but Taelia didn’t shrink in on herself. Taelia huffed, but didn’t push her luck any further with Genn, “I understand.”   
  
“I’m glad,” Genn said. “Now, please, do not upset the guards so much. They are only doing what they’ve been told.”   
  
Genn was right about that, at least. However, Anduin did not like that his own words – the King of Stormwind – were not enough to move his own guards.   
  
“I’d like to go to my father’s grave, instead,” Anduin announced as Taelia turned to leave the entrance to the Stockades.  
  
There was deep quiet as he and Taelia made their way to Lion’s rest, and Anduin was thankful for it. He was thankful that Taelia didn’t pity him and instead tried to push her way into the Stockades against her own better judgment. She knew Wrathion far less than Anduin, and still, she was ready to come to his defence at Anduin’s word. Taelia was an unquestionably loyal and trustworthy friend.   
  
“I didn’t know the Red Dragonflight was so cruel,” Taelia said as she brought Anduin to a stop in front of his father’s tomb. “They sound scarier than the Black Dragonflight, to me.”   
  
“They’re not all bad,” Anduin said, “but what Alexstrasza and her flight did to Nyxondra, and her brood, was beyond cruel. Wrathion suffered at their hands, and he doesn’t speak much about it save for that he has no trust for Alexstrasza. With a loudmouth like Wrathion, his silence on the subject speaks volumes.”  
  
“And we are handing him over to her,” Taelia sighed.   
  
“Yes,” Anduin said. “Doubtless, they are going to experiment on him before inevitably executing him.”  
  
There was a bout of silence that passed between them as Anduin wordlessly stared at his father’s tomb. Unlike his mother’s tomb, it did not call out to him and embrace him in warmth. Instead, his father’s tomb stared back at him, cold, hard, and resolute.   
  
“Why isn’t he fighting?” Taelia asked. “I mean, I saw his dragon form; he’s huge for a drake! He destroyed the embassy’s roof when he transformed, so why can’t he just bust out of the Stockades the same way? They’re not really built to hold a dragon, for Pete’s sake.”  
  
“He’s not trying to escape, that’s why,” Anduin said. “I just don’t know why he isn’t.”   
  
A wave hit so hard that it splashed up behind the pillars surrounding his father’s tomb, misting the two of them in cold water.   
  
“Damn it all,” Taelia cussed, smacking her hands against the now wet handles of Anduin’s chair. “If I could only get in there, then I’d get some answers.” She paused, “I’d beat them out of him, but only if I really had to.”   
  
“I don’t think even beating him would help, at this point,” Anduin said with a soft chuckle. “Whatever he’s doing, he’s determined to carry this through to the very end. I doubt he’d even tell me, at this point.”   
  
“I think you’re right,” Taelia said as she rested her head on Anduin’s shoulder from behind, joining him in staring at Varian’s tomb. “What do you think he’d do?”   
  
Anduin chuckled, “in this situation? I’m not entirely sure what my father would do. Given his past with the Black Dragonflight, though, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be on my side here.”   
  
Taelia sighed, her warm breath tickling Anduin’s cheek, “this sucks.”   
  
“It really does.” 

»»————- ————-««

  
Wrathion wasn’t entirely sure how much time had passed since he’d been placed in the Stockades, and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted the answer, either. It was dreadfully boring in his filthy prison cell, but he would have taken years in here over being shifted into Alexstrasza’s custody.   
  
He laid his head back on the poor, makeshift bed they had left in his room, letting out a long-suffering sigh.   
  
He was really in a troubling position.   
  
He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he hadn’t heard the footsteps coming to his cell. It was only when they cleared their throat that Wrathion was alarmed to their presence.   
  
Wrathion looked up, surprised at who he saw standing on the other side of those rusty bars.   
  
“Jaina?” Wrathion asked.   
  
“Anduin is awake,” she started.   
  
“He is?” Wrathion climbed out of the cot he was lying in, and perhaps his voice was a little too excited as Jaina’s face was a canvas of bewilderment. He righted his tone immediately, “I’m surprised,” he said carefully, “I was certain he wouldn’t pull through after that little mistake.”   
  
“You,” she started, her eyes squeezed to slits, examining him carefully.   
  
He wondered, absently, if she was going to blast him to kingdom come in that moment. In fact, he was surprised that she hadn’t done it at the trial with the way she had been glaring daggers at him.   
  
Instead, she surprised him as she took a brief look over her shoulder and unlocked the door to his cell. She traipsed in without a second thought, then closed the door behind her.   
  
She took one more cursory glance over her shoulder, for good measure.   
  
“You people have a very stupid habit of entering the cells of your dangerous prisoners,” Wrathion mocked.   
  
“You could have found your way out of here without any issue,” Jaina said, ignoring his comment. “In fact, you could have fled the moment Anduin was brought to Lilyssia. Why didn’t you?”   
  
“The longer you have to deal with me, the longer your wretched hands are kept off of the Horde,” Wrathion said with a silky shrug. “I cannot stand by as the Alliance dallies around and continues to damage Azeroth. When the Horde finally brings your end, so comes to an end your consumption of Azerite. I’ve given Sylvanas ample time to rally her troops for an assault.”   
  
“The goblins will continue to extract Azerite even if we were to perish,” Jaina said, her brows furrowed. “Do you think Sylvanas will stop the use of such a precious resource even if we were to lose to the Horde?”   
  
“I can deal with the Goblins on my own,” Wrathion said, and perhaps a little too fast to go unnoticed by Jaina.   
  
“Why would you go so far when you could easily get Anduin to stop the use of it when we no longer need it?”  
  
There was a pause, and one clearly too long for Jaina.   
  
She lifted her hand, and Wrathion watched as a nearly invisible barrier encompassed the space between the two of them.   
  
He knew this to be a spell to keep their voices hidden from prying ears. He’d used it many times himself, after all.  
  
Jaina squinted, seemingly reading every line on his face before eyes widened, “you _are_ lying.”   
  
“Lying about what, Lord Admiral?” Wrathion asked snidely, crossing his legs as he held that sly smile against her.   
  
“You didn’t poison Anduin,” she laughed breathlessly.   
  
“Why-”  
  
“Tell me the truth,” Jaina said. “It’s just the two of us – you need to tell me the truth.”   
  
Wrathion stared at Jaina in silence, and he felt the smile on his face falter. It was easy to keep this act up against people who believed he had done it, but lying to someone who thought otherwise? It was harder than he thought it would be.   
  
He wasn’t prepared for this.   
  
He was never prepared for this.  
  
Wrathion was not used to people having faith in him in dire situations.   
  
Could he trust Jaina Proudmoore?   
  
He looked off to the side, ignoring the way Jaina followed his face.   
  
“If anyone wants to keep Anduin safe, to keep the Alliance safe, it is me,” she reminded him.   
  
Wrathion looked up, and he could see nothing but sincerity in her eyes.   
  
“I do not know who poisoned Anduin,” Wrathion finally admitted, uncomfortable under Jaina’s icy stare. It was unbelievable, how much of a weight was lifted off his shoulders after finally telling someone the truth. Holding up such a vile lie was difficult, even for him.    
  
Jaina’s shoulders seemed to collapse at the admission, and she let out a deep breath.   
  
“Why did you lie, then?” Jaina asked.   
  
Wrathion sighed, pinching his chin between clawed thumb and forefinger, “when I saw the expressions on the faces of his people at the sight of me, I realized I would just be putting Anduin in danger if I were to say it wasn’t me who’d done it. I had to pretend to be manipulating him so his people wouldn’t turn against him for working with me, and so that whoever _did_ poison him wouldn’t panic and do something drastic. I couldn’t risk you buffoons letting something happen to him after taking such great pains to protect him.”  
  
“You have little faith in us,” Jaina said.   
  
“I don’t have _any_ faith in you after that hivemind display at the embassy,” Wrathion barked as he looked up at her. “You all turned against him even though he offered you compelling reason to not go against the Horde. He is your king, and you lot treat him like a child.” Wrathion paused, “I also have reason to believe it was one of you that poisoned him; the very people who are meant to stand behind him.”  
  
“What?” Jaina asked, her expression resentful at having a finger pointed at her.   
  
“I know it wasn’t you,” Wrathion waved. “I do know, however, that it was one of the leaders. Without question.”   
  
“How?” Jaina asked.   
  
“The smell of Black Lotus permeated that room so densely that I know someone in that room had to have directly handled it during that day. Light, if I hadn’t been so focussed on Anduin, I’m certain I could have figured it out right there,” he spat, clearly angered at his own inability to see beyond Anduin in such a crucial moment.   
  
Jaina paused, “do you think it was Tyrande?”   
  
Wrathion laughed, “Tyrande? No. That would be far too easy, and Tyrande is far too smart to draw so much attention to herself if she’d truly poisoned him.”   
  
“Right,” Jaina said, her shoulders falling again.   
  
“I am glad you came to me,” Wrathion said, looking up into Jaina’s cold, blue eyes. “I have a favour to ask of you. I was going to pawn this off on Taelia Fordragon because I knew she would do a good job of it, but your soldiers have been denying her entry.”   
  
Jaina looked hesitant but nodded.   
  
“Keep a close eye on Anduin,” Wrathion said. “Don’t make him resent you, but push him to forget what happened. Remind him that his people will lose faith in him if he continues to languish. If he continues pushing for my innocence – which I know he will be doing at first – he will lose the support of his people. Remind him of that – every time – and I’m certain he will come to understand.”   
  
“Why can’t I just tell him that you didn’t do it in confidence?”   
  
“No one can be trusted right now, Jaina. No one. Right now, it is best to keep Anduin in the dark and have him focus on his duty. If you tell him the truth, I have no doubt he will bring it up with the other leaders to stop them from pawning me off to Alexstrasza, and that only puts him in harm’s way again.”   
  
Jaina sighed, “this will be difficult, you know.”   
  
“It will be, Wrathion said, eyes forlorn. “I will, however, do my best to help from the background.”   
  
“You are to be in the custody of Alexstrasza,” Jaina said. “She is going to execute you, Wrathion.”   
  
Wrathion scoffed, “I can talk my way out of anything. Alexstrasza is a dolt – I could convince her to let me go with half my brain missing.”   
  
Jaina, however, could see the subtle tremble from Wrathion’s body and the lack of confidence with which he said those words. He hid it well, but Jaina was always a fantastic read of atmosphere. She knew he was terrified.   
  
She never thought, in her life, that she’d feel bad for a black dragon.   
  
He was truly prepared to die for Anduin.   
  
A black dragon dying for Alliance royalty – what a joke.   
  
“I will do as you say,” Jaina said with a short bow. “Stay safe, Wrathion.”   
  
“You as well, Jaina Proudmoore,” Wrathion said as he watched Jaina’s magic fade from around them, the barrier twinkling to the ground like stardust.   
  
She made her way out of the cell quickly, her dark cloak hiding her vibrant white hair.  
  
Wrathion let his head drop back against the wall behind him.   
  
What a terrible, terrible situation he’d found himself in. 


	8. Apotheosis

Alexstrasza was due to arrive late in the day, but the life-binder took it upon herself to arrive hours earlier.   
  
Anduin was awoken by Taelia charging into his room, hair frazzled and still sleep-warm to deliver this news. She gave him one swift slap to the leg to wake him, hovering over him with her eyes wide as he tried to clear the sleep from his own. He couldn’t have been asleep for longer than 3 hours as the sun had already been rising when he’d finally found sleep. He was certain it showed on his face judging by the way Taelia eyed him sympathetically.   
  
“What?” Anduin asked after Taelia’s stare became too uncomfortable.   
  
“Alexstrasza is here,” Taelia said, gripping his shoulders tight.    
  
Anduin shot up in bed, groaning and clasping at his stomach as he did so. No matter how many times he did this, he always forgot the limits of his own body when injured.   
  
“She hasn’t already taken him?” Anduin asked, voice strained. His light-imbued hand ran weak circles over his stomach – it wasn’t doing much for him.   
  
“She wants to speak with you,” Taelia said, eyes wide and searching, “alone.”  
  
Taelia turned before Anduin could answer, digging through his court clothing and laying them out on his bed in a messy heap.   
  
Just as Anduin was making a move to stand, Genn opened his door without so much as a knock. He walked up to the foot of Anduin’s bed, silently watching Taelia muttering and digging through Anduin’s clothing before he heaved a great sigh.   
  
Taelia immediately stopped her motions at Genn’s voice, slowly peeking around the cabinet door to face him.   
  
He had no doubt Taelia had raced to see him before Genn.   
  
“I assume Taelia has informed you of Alexstrasza’s request to speak with you?” Genn asked, eyes still locked on Taelia’ face, entirely unimpressed.   
  
“Yes,” Anduin said, smoothing the clothes out that Taelia had decided on. In her rush, she had grabbed a red doublet that he’d never once worn and paired it with a blue shirt.   
  
Not a terribly great sense of fashion on that girl.   
  
Genn finally looked away from Taelia and regarded him seriously, “I hope the king knows not to lie to Alexstrasza about Wrathion’s admission of guilt.”   
  
“The _king_ ,” Anduin said, “will tell Alexstrasza what he remembers, and what he thinks.”   
  
Genn sighed but bowed his head regardless. “Very well, Anduin, but I do hope you will not try to discourage Alexstrasza from taking Wrathion into her custody. The trial has been done, and Wrathion has admitted to his crimes. His crimes both before, and after, the poisoning.”  
  
Anduin opened his mouth to speak, but Genn continued.   
  
“I also feel it important to remind you that we do not have the capacity nor the proper prison to hold Wrathion here. As it stands, his presence inside the stockades poses danger to both the structure and the criminals inside. If he were to decide to rampage, I’m certain there wouldn’t be much we could do to stop him.”   
  
“I understand,” Anduin said with a nod. He’d taken to nodding his head even if he didn’t agree with Genn; this was more to avoid a long-winded argument than anything. There was no way Genn would understand Anduin’s point of view, and for good reason. Genn didn’t deserve to be prodded for doing what he thought to be right.   
  
For now, Anduin would be compliant.  
  
“Good,” Genn said, taking one last look at Taelia. “I’ll send a courtier in to help you dress and inform Alexstrasza that you will be with her shortly.”  
  
“Thank you, Genn,” Anduin said with as much a bow as he could muster with his pain.   
  
Genn shared a sympathetic look with him before corralling a protesting Taelia out the door with him.   
  
Anduin was left staring down at the garish red doublet that Taelia had left on his bed. 

»»————- ————-««

Alexstrasza looked exactly as she had all those years ago at Garrosh’s trial in Pandaria. She was beautiful, incredibly tall, but most of all, intimidating. Her oppressive presence only stood to be amplified by Anduin’s current chair bound form.   
  
The former aspect stood by a great window, peering down at the Stormwind commoners with an unreadable expression – boredom, perhaps? He supposed the sights in Stormwind paled in comparison to the likes of Dragonblight and the whole of Northrend.   
  
When Anduin entered, her burning gaze slowly shifted up from the streets and to him, but she didn’t move from where she was perched on the windowsill.   
  
He offered a short bow when he entered and was met by the same from Alexstrasza.   
  
“Alexstrasza, it is a pleasure-”  
  
“Is it a pleasure to see me, King Wrynn?”   
  
Anduin stopped his chair from rolling closer, his hands stilling on the dusty wooden wheels.   
  
“I am told that you do not think Wrathion guilty,” she said, crossing her legs and resting her hands behind her.  
  
Anduin cleared his throat and resumed wheeling himself closer. When he stopped at a comfortable distance, so they would be eye-to-eye, Anduin continued. “I do not, no.”   
  
“Why, then, when he admitted so quickly to the whole of Stormwind that he had poisoned you?”   
  
Alexstrasza was quick with her questions, but she seemed to bear no ill will toward Anduin. Genuine curiosity permeated the dragon, but it didn’t make Anduin feel any less uncomfortable under her steely gaze.  
  
Anduin shook his head slowly, “I’m afraid I cannot explain why he would tell such an atrocious lie – only he could, and I very much doubt he would be willing to offer one. I can, however, tell you why I believe he is lying.”   
  
Alexstrasza hummed skeptically, though she didn’t voice why she was bothered like so many others had. Instead, she waited for Anduin to continue.   
  
“When he first offered his aid,” Anduin started, “he was very much in favour of attacking the Horde head-on. However, after his time in Stormsong Valley with the Naga, he swiftly changed his mind as he felt they were a greater, more immediate threat. Someone who was backing the Horde wouldn’t have done things in such a roundabout way – especially someone as clever as Wrathion. He has manipulated me once before, after all. I know what to look for now, and he’s not once given me any reason for concern since his return. If anything, he’s done more than enough to prove his loyalty to my house.”   
  
Anduin wet his lips, momentarily inspired by Alexstrasza’s willingness to listen to his reason. No one else had given him time for a sentence, even, before cutting him off and berating him.  Her expression didn’t give much away, but her sealed lips and relaxed posture told Anduin that she would listen for as long as she had to. This was why she had arrived so early.   
  
“I’m certain Genn has told you that I’ve been taken in by Wrathion’s charms,” Anduin said, “but I assure you, I am not the naïve child I once was in Pandaria. Wrathion would not have been so careless with the way he handled things if his intentions were truly to keep me from attacking the Horde. There are so many other methods he could have employed to keep me compliant, and poisoning me would not have been one of them.”  
  
Alexstrasza took this information in carefully. Her head was tipped back and she tapped one claw to her throat thoughtfully. When she looked back down, she locked eyes with Anduin for what felt like an eternity before she spoke.   
  
“Do you fear me, Anduin Wrynn?”   
  
Anduin was taken aback by the question. Her question confused him as it was entirely out of line with what he had been talking about. He cocked his head, flustered, but before he could open his mouth to speak, Alexstrasza clarified.   
  
“I’m certain Wrathion has told you a great deal of what the Red Dragonflight has done – both to him, his mother, and his mother’s brood.”   
  
“Yes, of course he has,” Anduin said, though his eyes begged for her to explain this sudden thread of thought.  
  
“You must think me a monster, then,” she said.   
  
Anduin paused, and though he had always employed the liberal use of white lies to preserve the comfort and happiness of those around them, he felt it unwise to do so here, with an ages old dragon. “Yes,” Anduin said, “I think your actions in the Badlands were monstrous. After what the Horde had done to you, I was surprised to hear you’d choose to do the same to another dragon; corrupted or not.”   
  
Alexstrasza let out a soft, breathy huff. She smiled at Anduin, a small thing, but a smile nonetheless. She appeared to be pleased by his cold honesty.   
  
“Nyxondra was corrupted – corrupted beyond repair. We could easily have wiped out her brood and ended her bloodline immediately, but we were attempting to preserve the uncorrupted Black Dragonflight by any means necessary. Our attempts were a success with Wrathion, but I do understand how our methods in creating him would seem _unorthodox_ to an outsider.”  
  
“Your methods were cruel,” Anduin said.  
  
Alexstrasza stood up from the sill and began pacing around the head of the table in the center of the room. Anduin watched her curiously.   
  
When she stopped, she leaned over the table, her clawed fingers just barely piercing the surface of the heavily varnished wood.   
  
“I say he was a success, and yet Wrathion has proved time and time again that, even uncorrupted, black dragons are dangerous,” she said. “I am certain you understand, King Wrynn, that what Wrathion did in Pandaria alone is grounds for execution.”  
  
Anduin nodded, though there was hesitation on his face.   
  
Now he saw where she was going with her questions.   
  
“I am to understand that Wrathion did what he thought was necessary for the preservation of Azeroth, but,” she vaguely motioned to the room around them. “Instead, he brought the Legion, and with it, Sargeras, who plunged his sword deep into Azeroth and set in motion her inevitable death. Azeroth, who Wrathion is supposed to have been protecting this whole time.”   
  
Anduin didn’t nod, instead only watched as Alexstrasza calmly stated what was, unfortunately, the truth. Alexstrasza was telling him, in a roundabout way, that she didn’t care about the possibility of Wrathion having poisoned the King of the Alliance. The poisoning was trivial compared to everything else Wrathion had done.   
  
“I am also to understand that he was once championing the Horde with hopes of them destroying the Alliance for all time so there would be no faction conflict when the Legion arrived.”   
  
“He was, but he came to realize, rather quickly, that Garrosh was growing dangerous and that peace couldn’t be achieved with him. All Wrathion wanted was unity. His approach to the situation was atrocious, but his heart was in the right place. “Anduin now found himself defending Wrathion’s previous actions that even he himself didn’t agree with.   
  
Alexstrasza was having Anduin defend Wrathion’s life by explaining all he had done wrong. She was giving Anduin the opportunity to convince her not to put him to death.   
  
Anduin, however, was finding it difficult to defend the dragon.  
  
Alexstrasza lifted her hands from the table and walked over to Anduin. She grabbed a chair and took a seat directly in front of him.   
  
“His heart might have been in the right place at the time,” she said with a short nod, “but this only proves that he is fickle, and fickle dragons, Anduin, are very dangerous. Either way, Wrathion was prepared to let one faction fall – thousands put to the slaughter – so the focus would be on what he believed to be the real danger. So why, then, is it so difficult for you to believe that he would try to do the same against Azshara?”   
  
Anduin looked at her incredulously before shaking his head. Of course, someone who didn’t know Wrathion and only knew his past could easily pin the blame, and for good reason. This is what made this situation so difficult.   
  
“You make a strong case for him, Anduin,” Alexstrasza said, “and if it were for anyone but Wrathion – a black dragon – I’d almost believe it to be possible.”   
  
“Alexstrasza,” Anduin started, “I know this situation looks dreadful, but-”  
  
“Unless I hear from Wrathion’s lips an explanation for _everything_ , then there is nothing more to be said,” Alexstrasza said as she took a stand. “I wanted to give you a chance to explain, King Wrynn, but I’m afraid you do not offer enough of a compelling case. If you can’t offer good reason then I’m quite certain Wrathion can’t, either.”   
  
Alexstrasza looked down, and for a moment, there appeared to be pity in her expression as she bowed. “I apologize, King Wrynn, but tonight we will take Wrathion and hold our own trial. We will give him the opportunity to defend himself, but it sounds as though he has no intention of doing so.”   
  
Anduin couldn’t look at her, instead he focussed on the hazy heat that warped the air outside the castle windows.   
  
“I’ve asked Genn to allow you to speak one last time with the dragon before we remove him,” she said. “He was fiercely against it, but I felt it only right to allow you a final goodbye and pushed him for it. I will need to supervise, but I will not interfere – nor will I repeat anything I hear or _see_.”   
  
The way she emphasized the last word carried implication with it that Anduin didn’t want to begin unravelling.  
  
Alexstrasza placed a firm hand on his shoulder.   
  
Anduin looked up at her, and all the hurt he’d been bottling up must have been on full display as Alexstrasza sighed before offering one last bow before her exit.

»»————- ————-««

When Anduin entered, the last thing he expected to see was Wrathion sitting on a solid iron chair with his hands bound loosely to the metal arms. Two guards stood on either side of him with their hands trembling over their swords, ready to draw at any moments notice despite Wrathion’s lax form.   
  
By the looks on their faces, it was clear that Wrathion had said something to greatly upset them.   
  
Wrathion, however, looked unconcerned by their presence. His claws tapped impatiently at the iron beneath them, staring intently at Alexstrasza who stood beside the doors Anduin entered. She stared back at him, her face a blank, unbothered slate unlike Wrathion’s smug one.  
  
The tension between the two dragons was strong enough to make even Anduin uncomfortable, though it was soon forgotten when he realized what he had come for.   
  
“Wrathion,” Anduin said, forgetting about the guards, Alexstrasza, and the oppressive tension in the room when he met eyes with him. He silently cursed himself for just how much relief and happiness flooded his mind and voice at the sight of him, alive and well.   
  
Wrathion, in return, met him with an ice-cold stare of the likes Anduin had never seen from him.   
  
It gave Anduin pause, but he never slowed his approach. This was Wrathion, after all.   
  
When he was as close as the guards would permit – holding their hands out when they deemed Anduin too close to the dragon – Alexstrasza waved her hands at them, never taking her eyes off Wrathion as she did so.   
  
“You may leave,” she said – no, commanded.   
  
The guards hesitated, unsure of leaving their king so close to the dragon, but they left as her scrutiny became too much for them to bear. One of the guards looked over their shoulder at them one last time before letting the doors swing shut behind them.   
  
“Why did you tell them you poisoned me?” Anduin asked as soon as the soldier’s heavy footfalls could no longer be heard. He had so much more he wanted to say, to ask, but that was the first question that desperately needed answering. He was certain he was going to get nothing but silence, but he would never be able to live with himself if he didn’t at least try.   
  
Like he’d expected, Wrathion didn’t answer, instead staring at the wall in front of him. Alexstrasza watched the interaction curiously.   
  
“There’s no one here but Alexstrasza and I,” Anduin said, “so, please; I need to know why. Alexstrasza has no connection to the Alliance or the Horde – what you say about that night will not be judged by her.” Anduin leaned over, cocking his head so he could meet eyes with Wrathion again, his voice going softer the closer he got. “Only me. Only I can judge you.”   
  
Wrathion finally looked at him, his blazing red eyes meeting Anduin’s cerulean. There was something there, in those onyx fissures, that seemed to search Anduin’s for centuries, but Anduin couldn’t quite put his finger on it.   
  
“I poisoned you because I cannot stand such naïve, short-sighted leaders,” Wrathion said with a sleek shrug.   
  
Anduin was taken aback by the sudden shift, unable to react before Wrathion continued his assault on Anduin’s dignity.    
  
“I always said that you would be too soft to wear your kingdom’s crown, and I was right,” Wrathion said. “You may condemn Sylvanas’ way of ruling, but at least she knows how and when to put her foot down with her people, regardless of their status. It is that rigidity – that hardness – that would benefit this failing excuse for an alliance. How could you hope to fight Azshara, to fight the Horde, when you can’t even control your own subjects?”   
  
Anduin let out a huff of disbelief, “Wrathion, where is all this coming from?”  
  
“You can’t possibly believe I was backing you after seeing the way your leaders so soundly beat you into submission? Light, Anduin, they brought me to trial while you were still unconscious knowing full well that this would upset you. You have no control over them; they do not see you as their king.”   
  
Anduin could do nothing but stare at Wrathion in confusion. He scoured Wrathion’s face, hoping that he could see a crack in the façade.   
  
Anything.    
  
“Why are you doing this?” Anduin asked, gripping Wrathion’s forearm. He got close enough that Wrathion’s face was hidden from Alexstrasza’s piercing gaze – only Anduin could see him now. Anduin hoped Wrathion understood why, but Wrathion only met him with that same dead stare.   
  
“I thought I had already made it clear,” Wrathion said, leaning forward. “You’re a fool, Anduin Wrynn. You and your father are the same. The only difference between the two of you is that he could assume the mantle, where you couldn’t even hope to pick it up.”   
  
Anduin hadn’t expected the last comment, and it hit him with all the force of a physical punch to the gut. After everything that had happened, Anduin was ashamed to admit even to himself that Wrathion’s comments were all too true.   
  
True as they might be, however, Wrathion had never once faulted Anduin for it like this.   
  
“Wrathion, why are you saying all this? Not even three days ago, you told me I was-”  
  
“Why are you so light-forsaken difficult?” Wrathion demanded. His voice was a deep rumble, and on his face, Anduin saw genuine anger. His ruby eyes flared, and Alexstrasza began hesitantly walking forward. Wrathion stood as far as the chains binding him to the chair would allow, hovering over Anduin and glaring down at him. “I’ve given you chance after chance, and yet you keep crawling back and trying to prove my innocence. You stupid, stupid man.”  
  
However, just as Alexstrasza was about to intervene, a dagger came between the two of them. It was swiftly pressed to Wrathion’s jugular, bringing forth the smallest bead of blood. Mathias Shaw reached forward and wrapped an arm around Wrathion’s chest, pulling him back down into his chair with a hard thump.  
  
Wrathion’s face was neutral, not even a hint of shock to be found, but Anduin’s immediately climbed from surprise, to hurt, to outrage.   
  
Even Alexstrasza, who now stood a few paces behind Anduin, looked confused.   
  
Clearly, even she hadn’t known Mathias had been in the room.   
  
Wrathion, however? He didn’t look the least bit surprised by Mathias’ sudden appearance. Wrathion knew Mathias had been there the whole time – of course he had. Wrathion, at the end of the day, was a rogue before a dragon.   
  
“This was to be a private meeting,” Anduin said incredulously. “You must have known this, Mathias?”  
  
Mathias took a steady step back when he was satisfied Wrathion wasn’t going to resist or attack Anduin. He bowed to his king before speaking.   
  
“My apologies, your majesty, but we felt it best to keep watch should the dragon become violent,” he said.   
  
That was the moment Anduin finally saw through this whole scheme – Wrathion’s scheme. He cursed himself for being so daft; for allowing his emotions to cloud over his often-good reason.   
  
Stupid, stupid man indeed.  
  
Alexstrasza hummed from behind Anduin, who sat, face drawn in contemplation, “and you thought that a simple rogue could control him should he choose to truly attack Anduin? Do you really think some flimsy iron chains would hold if he decided that he truly wanted to get out? You’d have done better to send the likes of Jaina Proudmoore if you wanted to level a compelling threat.”   
  
Mathias flinched at the insult, but he stood solid regardless.   
  
Alexstrasza looked down at Wrathion, who sat with a complacent expression on his face, if a little smug. “Even I do not know the full extent of his strength. What I do know, however, is that these chains couldn’t even hope to hold a _normal_ dragon.”  
_  
‘Normal dragon,’_ Anduin thought.   
  
Mathias and Alexstrasza continued to trade jabs – thought it was clear Alexstrasza was in the right. If Wrathion decided to fight, there was a high probability that he would leave destruction in his wake.   
  
After all, in his frenzy to get Anduin to the Alchemist, he had taken out the walls to the Dwarven District without even trying.   
  
When he thought about it, Anduin himself had never seen Wrathion truly fight with all his strength. Wrathion only used bits and pieces of it here and there, and only when it was necessary. Of course, Anduin had no doubt he was doing so on purpose. Wrathion didn’t want his enemies to know how strong he was, because if they did know, they would find a way to overcome him.   
  
The unknown always posed a great threat.   
  
There was great strength hidden in Wrathion, and it didn’t take a brilliant mind to gauge that just by looking at him.   
  
Mathias’ wasn’t sent there to protect Anduin, no, Mathias was sent there to spy on Anduin on behalf of – who, exactly? Genn? Tyrande?   
  
Anduin wasn’t entirely sure.   
  
Who could Anduin trust, now?  
  
“Leave,” Anduin said, causing both Wrathion and Alexstrasza to flick their eyes in his direction. Anduin’s voice was filled with venom, something entirely uncommon for the young king – particularly when aimed at one of his subjects.   
  
Mathias furrowed his brows and took a hesitant bow to both Anduin and Alexstrasza before moving to leave the room.  
  
However, before Mathias was out the door, Anduin – the kind and goodly king he was – gave Mathias something to bring back with him to whoever had sent him.   
  
“Do you see what you’ve done?” Anduin grabbed both arms of the chair Wrathion sat in. It took a great deal of effort to push himself out of his chair and keep himself standing even with the support of Wrathion’s chair, but he needed to look as passionate as possible.   
  
This needed to be convincing.   
  
The motion seemed to surprise Wrathion, who’d drawn his head back in shock.   
  
Anduin was so close he could feel the ember heat radiating off Wrathion’s body.   
  
“My own people no longer trust me,” Anduin said bitterly as he waved a vague hand at the dark windows that looked out onto Stormwind City. He kept his voice just loud enough that it wouldn’t miss the ears of one Mathias Shaw – one Mathias Shaw who still stood motionless at the head of the room with his hands on the doors before him – listening.    
  
“They send my own spies to protect me, to keep watch over me like a child,” he laughed humorlessly. Anduin pointed a finger in Wrathion’s face, mere inches from his nose, “you will suffer for this – for making me trust you again.”   
  
Wrathion smirked and cocked his head.  
  
Anduin grabbed the front of his doublet at this – and he knew the sound of clinking chains would make Mathias turn around.   
  
This motion should have hurt, but the adrenaline running through his veins at just how risky this was pumped through his veins like a soothing flame. He was lying to his own people, and though he knew it needed to be done, it felt so wrong.  
  
Anduin had never been dishonest like this before.   
  
Mathias came up beside him and placed a gentle hand over Anduin’s own that was still gripping Wrathion’s doublet.   
  
“My King,” Mathias said as he looked down at the dragon. “Relax. It’s over.”  
  
Wrathion continued smirking, but there was something only Anduin recognized behind those seemingly judgmental, crimson eyes.   
  
To a bystander, to Alexstrasza and Mathias, it was just the dragon’s attempt at antagonizing the king further. To Anduin, however, it was much more than that. It was a genuine smile – as much of a smile as Wrathion could muster – a smile that told Anduin that Wrathion was pleased with him – proud of him, even.   
  
Anduin removed his hands from the shirt and watched as Wrathion collapsed into the chair behind him. He stared at Wrathion, scanning his face slowly, as if remembering every detail before dropping back into his own chair and turning his back on him.   
  
He brushed Mathias’ hand away from his, still angered at the betrayal on his own SI:7’s part. He had to play his part carefully, and forgiving Mathias too quickly would look suspicious.   
  
“I no longer want to see him,” Anduin waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder, “this was a mistake.” As he wheeled away, he looked up at Alexstrasza, and he so prayed she could see that his expression betrayed his words. “Take him and do what you will with him for his crimes.”   
  
As he left the chamber, Anduin couldn’t deny the ache he felt in his chest at even having to act out that scene. He wanted a proper goodbye – a proper goodbye as this could very well be the last Anduin would see of Wrathion.  
  
The aspects were brutal – and rightfully so after their suffering at the hands of Neltharion. He found it difficult to believe that they would be kind to Wrathion, but he had to hope. He had to hope as there was, now, nothing else he could do for Wrathion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeahhhhh, this chapter took me way longer than it should have. The good news, though, is that I know exactly where this story is going now and how I'm going to get there! Chapters should be coming out at blinding speeds now. (hopefully...)
> 
> Sadly, Anduin and Wrathion are going to be split up for a few chapters. This is, however, necessary to get the actual meat of the story going! Yeehaw!
> 
> Also, things are going to start picking up speed and hopefully getting more interesting. We're now going to have the dragons/Northrend story and the Anduin at Home story.


End file.
